Resolutions
by Trillian4210
Summary: COMPLETE. A new war is approaching and the Exile seeks to join Revan to fight it, but she'll need the help of a few of Revan's old friends. The end has come...
1. Casualties

_**Author's Note: So, I have made some edits to the first three chaps, some large, most small. Mostly I have de-fluffyfied the first chap somewhat (especially the Bao-Dur scene) and added some stuff about the Exile's wound in the Force, and that's about it. (Yes, I have fixed the Goto thing. My bad for never feeling the need to have influence with the thing during the game. ) I put notes as to what was changed so those of you long-timers can choose to check it out or not. To those of you just reading for the first time, pay no attention, but enjoy. To those of you with this on alert, sorry for the spam.**_

_**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of these characters—they belong to George Lucas or Obisidian or Bioware. But the Thrakill twins, O'Bannon, Macen and Jude are mine, for whatever that's worth. ;) _

**Part I, **

**C****hapter 1**

**Casualties**

Dane Koren heard Kreia's last moan as the life went out of the old woman. She crumpled gently to the ground and was still, her heavy black robes like a pool of shadow around her wasted and broken body. Dane let out a shaking breath and was not surprised that hot tears sprung to her eyes. _Kreia. So long you have guided me. It was not all a lie. I know it wasn't. I know you cared for me. _Dane knelt beside the body of Kreia—Darth Traya she had been—and took the old woman's dry, withered hand in her own strong, gloved one. _I hope you have found a measure of peace…_

Dane's thoughts—the closest thing to a eulogy the old woman would ever have—were interrupted by a rumbling deep below the ground beneath her. She let go Kreia's hand and rose to her feet, looking about her warily. The rumbling ceased but Dane, despite her weariness from battling her way through the Academy, was alert enough to know that the danger had not passed. The Trayus Core, now that Kreia was dead, seemed startlingly empty. In fact, the whole of the Academy felt the so. Dane stretched out her senses and found no life within the halls. _Of course not, _she admonished herself with a pang of regret, _I killed every living thing to get here. _But it was not the merely that the chambers and grounds of the Academy were empty of life…Dane stretched her senses further, just as Kreia had taught her, and listened. She sent out the Force to this chamber, the chambers beyond, the whole of the Academy, out, out, and beyond. The awareness that came back to her made her draw a sharp intake of breath. Her large blue eyes went to Kreia lying dead at her feet as the realization struck her. _Without Kreia, without the Sith, without Sion, without their dark energies, this place is nothing. Kreia, and the Force within her, was the last power holding this place together. Malachor V still reeks of the dark side, but these halls are empty…_

As if to confirm her awareness, the rumbling came again, and this time with far more power. The smooth, arching gray stone of the Trayus Core was suddenly riddled with fissures and cracks that spread like lightening over its surfaces. Dust drifted down in spiraling rivulets and small stones were jarred loose and littered the floor. Dane started for the door of the chamber when another rumbling came and knocked her to the ground. And then the rumbling didn't stop. Larger chunks of the chamber walls were now smashing to the ground and shattering. The vaulted arches were coming undone and collapsing of the stone floor. The ground itself swayed back and forth as though it were at sea and Dane could not rise to her feet again. A falling stone struck her above her right eye and blood poured down, partially blinding her. The noise was deafening.

Unable to walk, she crawled in what she hoped was the direction of the door. The rumbling noise grew louder, accompanied by peals of thunder from without. Dane fought to keep her rising panic down but could not keep from screaming in surprise as an immense portion of the chamber's ceiling crashed down only a few paces from where she knelt. She threw her arm up to shield her face from the debris and waited until the rain of rocks and jagged bits of marble ceased. When she looked again, she saw that the door to the chamber was blocked by the enormous piece of ceiling, and then she _did_ start to panic.

There was no way out.

The chamber had but one entrance or exit and that way was blocked. _I could push it aside with the Force, _she thought desperately. But the rumbling and quaking of Malachor V, the dust and blood that clouded her vision, the deafening sounds that assaulted her—all prevented her from being to do any more than huddle beside Kreia's lifeless body and hope that some way out would show itself.

Instead, things grew worse.

Dane watched in horror as the floor began to crack and then fall away around her. Huge chasms were opening as the smooth marble floor shuddered and fell into the unknowable darkness of the heart of the planet. Soon, only a small island on which Dane and Kreia lay were left. _It is not supposed to end like this, _Dane thought. _I have more to do. Kreia told me I have other journeys to take, to find Revan perhaps… It will not end like this…_

The thought had the instant effect of calming her and she centered herself in the midst of the chaos. She sat cross-legged beside her old master—_for that is what she was, Sith or no—_and began to meditate. She blocked out the roar of destruction around her. She ignored the fragments of stone and glass that fell from above and stretched her senses out again, this time with a message. _I am here…_

Had she not been listening for it, she may never have heard the thrumming of the _Ebon Hawk's_ engines beneath the din of the Academy caving in on itself. But she was awash with the Force and she opened her eyes at the precise moment the freighter emerged from one of the newly created chasms beneath the chamber. Dane smiled a quiet smile and looked at Kreia one last time. The old woman appeared, in death, to be merely sleeping.

"Get some rest, Master," Dane said gently and laid her hand on the old woman's arm, briefly, before stepping into the waiting hull of the _Ebon Hawk._

Dane stumbled into the dark of the _Ebon Hawk_ and fell immediately into Disciple's waiting arms. He caught her and steadied her. In the dimness, Dane could see the worry etched into his handsome young face. _Worry and something more, _she thought.

He looked past her, into the Trayus Core. "Where's Kreia?" Disciple shouted above the tumult.

"She's dead," Dane said. Disciple's only response was to nod once and then closed the_ Ebon Hawk's _door to the chaos outside. "Is everyone here? Are they all okay?" Dane asked.

Disciple shook his head. "Two of the droids are missing and Bao-Dur…Bao-Dur was badly injured in the crash."

Dane's blood went cold and her heart thudded heavily in her chest. But before she could ask more, Disciple was pulling by the arm toward the main hold.

"We can't stay here any longer," he shouted over the noise of the tumult raging outside. The _Ebon Hawk_ dropped and bobbed as if in agreement. "We have to tell Atton you're here so he can get us away."

"Not without Bao-Dur," Dane warned.

"He is on board," Disciple said. "But we have to move."

Dane nodded wordlessly and let herself be guided by Disciple. Together they made their way to the main hold of the ship as fast as they were able. The _Ebon Hawk_ listed and shuddered and more than once, Dane had to grab on to Disciple to keep from falling. Her worry for Bao-Dur made her unfocused, distracted.

"Stay here," Disciple told her, and helped her into one of the chairs. "Where should I tell Atton to go?"

"Tell him to put the _Hawk_ in orbit around Malachor V," Dane replied. As expected, Disciple was surprised at this, but he said nothing and ran to the bridge to pass on her order. Dane didn't want to stay around the hated planet any more than she had to either, but something told her that until she spoke with Bao-Dur, she should not go.

Disciple reached the cockpit where Atton sat at the controls, wrestling with them and swearing to himself. Mira was sitting beside him, looking pale and shaken. "She's in," he shouted to Atton.

Atton twisted in his chair. "What happened? Is she all right?" he demanded.

"I don't know," Disciple replied. "She is not injured, but…" His words trailed away for he didn't know how to describe how Dane looked. To him, with his Force sense, it seemed that whatever had happened between her and Kreia in the Academy, there had been no resolution, and the wound in her had not healed. Atton was regarding him darkly and was about to speak—most likely to demand further explanation, when Mira cut in, her voice breathy with fear.

"Atton, will you get us the hell away from here?" Mira snapped. "You two can fight over her later. If you haven't noticed, the planet is caving in on us."

True enough, a glance out of the _Hawk's_ windows showed Disciple a storm of rock and debris raining down around them, striking the ship now and a again with heavy thuds. The only way out was up and if Atton didn't get the _Hawk_ moving, Malachor V would swallow them whole.

Atton, still scowling at Disciple, apparently realized the same thing. "All right, go sit down and strap yourself in," he barked none-too-kindly. "I'm going to get us way the hell away from here, like the lady said."

"Dane says to put the _Ebon Hawk_ in orbit," Disciple said.

"All right. Around which planet?" Atton asked rudely.

"This one," Disciple replied with satisfaction at the incredulous look on the pilot's face and left the cockpit. He tried not to dislike Atton, but the scoundrel just rubbed him the wrong way. More than once, he'd found his normally mild temper rise at something Atton did or said. _Perhaps it is because, of the two of you, she cares for him…_ Disciple brushed the thought aside. _She and I have more in common—what could Atton possibly offer her? _Letting that thought comfort him, he returned to the center of the ship where Dane sat and strapped himself into a chair next to her…

Dane pressed herself into the seat as the _Ebon Hawk's_ engines hummed louder. Atton lifted them out of the ruins of the Academy, up through the narrow gopher hole of stone, dodging falling rock with uncanny precision. The hole was closing in on them, collapsing back into the earth, but Atton maneuvered the _Ebon Hawk_ out of harm's way and out into the night with a skill that would have made the most demanding Republic Admiral proud. After a while, the listing and swaying of the ship lessened and then ceased. Atton had succeeded in putting the freighter in orbit around Malachor V.

The second after he had done so, Atton jumped out of his seat and head for the main hold, Mira following behind.

"What the hell are we doing hanging around here?" Atton demanded but stopped when he saw Dane. He smiled a crooked smile at her. "Hey," Atton said, his voice growing quiet.

"Hey," she replied. "Thanks for coming to get me."

"I heard you," he said, almost shyly and with obvious pride. "I heard you in here—" he tapped his head—"and knew where to go to pick you up."

_I must leave him…_ The thought came and went and Dane pretended she had not heard it. "You've come far with the Force," was all she managed to say. He didn't like it, but she looked away before he said more.

The others were gathered, silent and waiting. They were all there, those who had accompanied her these last months, but for Mandalore, Visas and G0-T0. Mandalore, of course, had gone to seek other Mandalorians and gather them together. G0-T0, she suspected, was up to no good. The Miraluka, she guessed, was meditating. Mira smiled at her weakly and Dane thought the woman had been to hell and back, judging by the dark circles under her eyes, and haunted look about her pretty features. T3 greeted her with a few subdued beeps, and HK-47 nodded his head. "Delighted Greeting: Welcome back, master," he said snidely.

"Where's Bao-Dur?" Dane demanded.

"He's in sickbay with Visas," Disciple said in a low voice. "When the _Hawk_ crashed onto Malachor V, he was thrown against the bulkhead. His injuries are…serious."

Dane nodded once and started for the sickbay when Atton stopped her.

"We can't stay in orbit around this slag heap of a planet," he said. "There is too much debris and spacejunk floating around it. It's too dangerous."

"Then keep us safe, Atton," Dane said tensely. "Bao-Dur…"

Atton caught her meaning. He nodded and said, "Will do. And hey, tell that dumb Zabrak to stop messing around and get out here, okay?"

Dane muttered a response and dashed out of the bridge. She hadn't liked what Atton had said. It sounded like he was asking her to tell Bao-Dur goodbye for him. _Is he that bad? Please, no…_

She rushed to the starboard dormitory and arrived to find Bao-Dur lying on one of the bunks with Visas bent over him. As she drew closer, Dane's breath caught and swift tears came to her eyes.

Bao-Dur was dying.

She felt it as she neared the Iridonian without having to see the awful, gaping gash on his forehead or the blood that leaked from his ears and nose. Visas was trying in vain to stifle the flow of blood from that horrid gash with little success. What was revealed of her face was drawn and tense. She stopped her ministrations as Dane drew near.

"It is beyond me," she whispered in her throaty voice. She turned to Dane and laid her hand on the Exile's arm. "I believe he has been holding on, waiting."

"Waiting for what?" Dane asked.

"Waiting for you, of course," Visas said. Then the Miraluka retreated, leaving her alone with the Iridonian.

Bao-Dur lay very still on the bunk. His breathing was labored and slow, and his face was ashen from blood loss. Dane sat beside him and took his hand—his real hand—in her own. Bao-Dur's eyes opened at her touch and he tried to focus on her.

"General," he said with a relieved smile. His voice was, as ever, thick and rich, though weak. "Good to see you, General. The others were worried for you, but not I. This is Malachor V. I have seen your strength at Malachor V…" His words trailed as a shudder wracked his body.

"Sssh," Dane admonished, "be still. I am going to heal you and you are going to be just fine." But even as she said the words, doubt whipped at them. _He is too far gone, _came the horrible thought, but Dane pushed it away and prepared to summon the Force. But Bao-Dur seemed to know what she intended for he squeezed her hand in his.

"No, General. You can't help me. Not this time."

Dane let the Force go. He was right. If she tried to heal him, she would succeed only in putting him into a sleep from which he would not awaken. Hot tears trailed down her cheeks. She brushed them away angrily. "I'm so sorry, my friend," she whispered. "I am too late. Please…please forgive me."

"Ahh, General. You never change," Bao-Dur said. "It is not your fault and I won't stand for you believing it is. Understand?"

Dane nodded. Though she and the Zabrak were not on the field of battle, their thoughts were both drawn to that time, to the war. He was her friend and his impending death tore at her heart, but he was also, in their shared memories, her soldier and she was bound by the rites of the battlefield to release him from his agony if he wished her to.

"If you are in great pain, I will…help you," she said softly.

Bao-Dur shook his head. "I can take it and I must a little while longer, for there is something I have yet to do."

Dane watched as a spasm of pain crossed her friend's features. She reached for a medpac and jabbed its needle into his thigh. The tight expression on his face eased and Bao-Dur smiled. "Thank you, General," he said. "That is better."

"What is it you wish to do?" Dane asked softly.

Bao-Dur's eyes focused on her own and held her gaze. "Malachor V, General. It must be destroyed and I am going to destroy it."

"How?" Dane whispered.

Bao-Dur's eyes glittered. "Mass shadow generator."

_Oh gods, no, not again,_ Dane thought, her face going pale.

"No, General, it is not as you think it will be. It will not be as you remember. This planet is almost dead now," Bao-Dur said. "It will be better, I promise."

"But why?" Dane asked. _Isn't one wound enough?_

"If you could see your own face right now, you would know why. This place, it changes people. It changed me when I was here during the war… with you," he added. "And I don't mean only the loss of my arm, but _me. _I was different after Malachor V, as were you. As was Malak. As was Revan…"

Dane shook her head. "That is why I can't do it again," she whispered. "You remember, don't you…?"

"General, this is not the same, I promise you," Bao-Dur said. "I don't know what happened in there today with you and Sion and Kreia," he continued. "I don't know what words were spoken or what truths were revealed, but I do know, that there is not yet an end to wound in you. I see it in your face, General. And you feel it still, yes?"

Dane considered his words. It had been only minutes since she had stepped onto the _Ebon Hawk_—not nearly enough time to contemplate what had happened. She heard her friend's words but a lingering doubt still hung heavy over her.

At the end of the war, a healthy Bao-Dur had stood behind his young General as she annihilated Malachor V with his mass shadow generator. The loss of life, both Mandalorian and Republic, had been great and the Force had recoiled at the carnage. It punished Dane by leaving its stain on her, a blackened wound in the Force that she carried with her ever since. _And now he wants to do it again. He is right, the wound is in me still, but there is no end this way. Not for me. Perhaps for him…_

She looked at Bao-Dur.

"Yes, Bao-Dur," she said simply.

Bao-Dur's expression darkened. "Malachor V and everything it has wrought, began long ago, during the war. It has to end. Will you help me to end it?"

"Yes, my friend. This planet is a beacon of dark side energies, and for that reason alone, I will help you."

"You are my General," he said, sitting straighter now. "You give the orders, not I. But I have set it all up." His breath was coming in labored gusts now, and Dane knew he did not have much time. Bao-Dur must've known it too, for he spoke with urgency, his hand gripping Dane's, his feverish eyes boring into hers.

"My remote is down there," he said. "After we crashed, we were scattered and I injured. I knew it would come to this. Somehow I knew." He cocked his head ever so slightly at Dane. "Perhaps General, I have a bit of the Force with me too."

Dane smiled tremulously. "Oh, my friend, you have more than you realize."

This pleased Bao-Dur, but a spasm of pain erupted then, as though to remind him he had to hurry.

"Before the crash, I created a hologram message and fed it into the remote's database with programming that it should play itself at a certain time. That time came, I know, with the destruction of the Trayus Core."

"How do you know this?" Dane asked, surprised.

"I felt it, General," he said with that same pleased smile. "The message tells the remote to activate the mass shadow generator only upon your orders, and so destroy this hated planet once and for all. He is waiting right now, my remote, for you to give the order, General. Give it, and there will be an end."

Bao-Dur slumped, clearly exhausted. But his eyes never left Dane. Her awareness told her what her friend hadn't the strength left to say: He was in great pain and he was very tired, but he was holding on. Holding on so that she may tell him she would give that order, and when she did, he could rest. And he wanted very much to rest.

"You are right," she told Bao-Dur. "Malachor V has changed me. Changed you too, and everyone who comes near it. And in the end, it will have taken my dearest friend from me. I will contact the remote and give the order, Bao-Dur. I swear it."

Bao-Dur smile was broken and tremulous. His breath hitched sharply and fresh blood stained his lips. "And I…will always…be at your service…General. Always."

Dane sat for long moments holding Bao-Dur's hand as it grew cold in her own. _My dearest friend…_ The pain threatened to engulf her but she pushed it away, buried it in some dark place within. There was no time to mourn Bao-Dur now, for it would crush her and she had more yet to do. _More good-byes, _she thought. She looked at her friend, lying peacefully on the bunk as though sleeping but for that awful wound.

"You, of all them, I needed most," she told his still form. "For what I have to do, I wanted your council and advice. You would have helped me to make the others see…" She laid her cheek against his hand. "Goodbye, my friend. I will do as you ask, but it will not heal me and it will not bring you back."

With effort, she forced herself to let go of him and rose from the bunk. She left the room and shut the door behind her without looking back.

Dane returned to the center of the ship. She looked up at the expectant faces and said simply, "He is dead." None of them looked surprised, though all of them—but for HK-47—were deeply affected by her statement. Even T3-M4 made a low, mournful sound.

Atton's face turned stony and he said nothing, though Dane sensed surprise in him that the Zabrak's death hurt him as much as it did.

Disciple was the first to speak. "Bao-Dur was a good man," he said. "I am sorry."

There were murmurs of condolence from Mira and Visas but Dane didn't want to hear them. "His last request was that we activate his mass shadow generator and I am going to grant that request," she said, daring any to contradict her. She half-expected a mutiny, for everyone knew what that meant. But they only nodded and Atton appeared relieved.

Disciple said, "Yes, it is time. This place…._haunts._" He said no more, but Dane knew what he meant. Malachor V was at the edge of the galaxy, and it called to the minions of the dark side to revel in its bloody past and glean energy from the death that was wrought on it. Its mere presence was like a shadow in the back of one's mind and Dane had no more second thoughts about its destruction. _There is no life here. It will not be as before…_

HK-47 took a mechanical step forward. "Amazed statement: I am pleased at Master's decision," he said and Dane thought if droids could smile, HK-47 would be doing so. "Old Master had a knack for destroying planets," he continued. "I am proud to say new Master does as well."

Dane ignored the droid and looked to Atton. "Can you get me a comlink to the remote?"

Atton started out of his thoughts. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Bao-Dur…um, he told me how. He said you would want to know…"

Dane only nodded. "Please do it."

Atton, without another word, set about it and after a moment, there came the crackling sound of atmospheric static. The storm was still raging on Malachor V.

"I'm not picking him up," Atton said after a moment. "We may have to wait for the planet to make a full rotation to get a lock on the droid's location. I'll keep sending out communication until we find him."

Dane nodded though she was impatient. The others were anxious too. All of them knew the longer the _Ebon Hawk_ stayed in orbit around Malachor V, the greater danger they were all in.

"Remote, do you read?" Atton said into receiver set into the console where the star map emanated. He repeated those words a few more times and then there came a faint reply. Atton turned to Dane. "He's all yours. I figure you'll have about eight minutes before our orbit takes him out of range again."

"All right," Dane said. She bent closer to the receiver. "Remote, this is…Dane," she said hesitantly but firmly.

The remote responded and then was cut off and suddenly the star map in the center of the bridge was gone and in its place was a grainy holo-image of the remote hovering near a console in the wreckage of a Republic ship.

"So nice to finally hear from you…_General Koren,"_ came the unmistakable sound of Goto's voice. The unit was apparently transmitting from the surface; at times the round, black edge of the unit's body came into the holo-image's view. "I had been wondering if you had decided to abandon us."

"Goto, I am going to activate a mass shadow generator and destroy Malachor V," she bluntly. "I ask that you not interfere."

"Tsk, tsk," admonished the droid. "I should think you know me well enough by now, Exile, that I cannot allow you to do that." And to accentuate his words an ion blaster came into view, unlocked from one of Goto's many chambers. It was leveled at the remote. "We have spoken at length about returning balance to the galaxy. This hardly conforms to that notion, now does it?"

Dane pressed her lips together. "It does, Goto," she said slowly. "You can trust in that."

Goto laughed. "Trust is a currency with little value in my business," he said. "But, because of our long and interesting history together, I shall allow you—or shall I say, allow the remote—time enough for you to explain. You see, while I am assuming you killed Kreia and that distasteful-looking creature, Sion, there are many other Sith hovering about. They will gather soon, perhaps here, and begin to rebuild. On the other hand, there is the Jedi Masters on Dantooine, who are no doubt working very hard to build their enclave and train new Jedi. That seems to me a rather agreeable balance. Therefore, I cannot allow you to destroy this little rock. Where this is light, there needs be shadow as well, Exile. Don't you agree?"

Dane took a deep steadying breath. What she was about to say only Disciple knew, and she prepared for shock and dismay of the others. "No, Goto, there is no enclave on Dantooine. Only empty halls and ghosts. The Jedi Masters are dead."

There came a gasp of surprise from Mira followed by silence. Atton shook his head in disbelief while Visas merely nodded, as if she had expected it. Goto made a 'tsk tsk' sound.

"And was that by your hand, Exile?" he drawled.

"Not mine," Dane replied. "Kreia."

Inside the _Ebon Hawk_ there was mutterings from Atton and Mira, while down below on the planet's surface, there was a pause as Goto absorbed this. "Interesting," he said at last. "And whatever did she do that for?"

"As punishment," Dane said slowly. "The council was going to strip me of the Force again, but Kreia would not allow it. It wasn't in her plans," she added bitterly.

"I can't say that I am pleased for there remain many Sith left in the galaxy. It is only a matter of time that they shall seek to bond together and wage war anew. A Jedi Council would have been a useful thing to have around," Goto said. "However, I am now more inclined to change my opinion as to whether or not destroying Malachor V is in my best interests."

Dane scowled. Of all the reasons to destroy Malachor V whether or not it was in Goto's "best interests" was last on her list. She leaned closer to the holo-image. "We must do it, Goto. Otherwise, those Sith you speak of will come here and feed off the dark energy of this planet. They will grow strong and many in number, and with no Jedi Masters to train others, there will be no one to fight them."

Goto laughed a tinny-sounding chuckle. "I'm sure there are many a Republic soldier who would take umbrage at such a remark," he said. "But still, you are right in that only a Jedi is a proper match for a Sith…especially when the dividing line between the two is as blurred as it is."

Dane ignored the pointed remark. "Goto—"

"And what of yourself, Exile?" the droid interrupted. "Are you not a Jedi Master? Do you not seek to repopulate the galaxy with your own progeny?"

Dane felt Disciple and Atton's eyes on her. She had started both of them on the path after taking on the mantle of Master and she had left their training unfinished. _They will have to learn from another, _she thought, and then another voice spoke up in her head, _What other? _Aloud, she said, "Perhaps. Goto, we can't stay here for long—"

"Two minutes and they will be out of range again," Atton put in.

"Let the remote do as it is programmed to do, Goto."

"Very well," the crime boss sighed. "I'll let the Iridonian's little pet do his work." Dane flinched at the casual mention of Bao-Dur but said nothing. "It's fortunate I thought to program myself a back-up in the event of an emergency such as this. My own cleverness continues to amaze me. All right, Exile, blow the planet to bits, if you've a mind too. I'm sure I shall see you again very soon. Very soon, indeed."

The transmission failed completely and the holo-image flickered out.

"What a bastard," Atton remarked.

"How will we know if he keeps his word?" Mira asked. "And if he does keep his word, how will we know when we have to high-tail it out of here?"

Dane looked to Atton. "Quickly, take us out of orbit and out of range of the mass shadow generator."

"How far away is that?" he asked even as he was running toward the cockpit.

"Far!" Dane called after him. She looked to the others. "Grab your seats and strap in," she ordered. The crew did as she commanded, each retreating to their stations.

Dane resumed her seat and leaned her head against the chair. She closed her eyes, feeling the thrust of the _Ebon Hawk's_ engines as Atton maneuvered them out of Malachor V's orbit, and into space. Suddenly, she was seized with a fierce desire to watch that planet die. She threw off her seat belt and ran to the cockpit.

"Pull up a visio," she ordered Atton, who was startled to see her standing at the console behind him.

"Do you think we're far enough away?" Atton asked and punched some buttons on his own console. The screen in front to Dane revealed Malachor V, a wasted, broken planet; its only moons the debris of spacecraft—Sith and Republic alike, that were destroyed in the war.

"I think so," Dane murmured. She felt Atton move to stand close behind her, she could feel the nearness of him. "I want to watch it die."

To this, Atton nodded and moved to stand as close to her as he could without actually touching her. As the image on the screen changed—as Malachor V was slowly being laid to waste by Bao-Dur's mass shadow generator, Dane found herself leaning against Atton until he was nearly supporting her.

Malachor V did not explode in a brilliant shower of light and flame. It simply grew blacker and blacker. The green lightening of the dark energies that held it together was snuffed by this blackness and the planet itself simply fell apart. The debris of broken spacecraft, bereft of the gravitational pull, drifted away until finally there was nothing to look at but empty space.

Dane went numb. The pain, grief, and exhaustion of the last few days overwhelmed her. Like a litany of death, the names came to her: _Master Vrook, Kavar, Vandar, Atris, Sion, Kreia, Bao-Dur…_ Even the dozens and dozens of nameless Sith she had murdered in the Trayus Academy fighting her way to Kreia, haunted her. And now the end of Malachor V—the place where she had seen and dealt more death than one woman should in a lifetime. _And the wound is in me still… I knew it would not end in more death. There has to be another way…_

Dane watched the empty screen long after all that was visible was the blackness of space. Atton stood behind her still, uncharacteristically silent. She sensed he wanted to talk to her, to comfort her, but that he hadn't the words. Finally, she turned around and smiled thinly.

"It's over. I have to rest now," she said hollowly.

"Uh, okay," Atton replied, and ran a hand through his hair. "Are you all right?"

Dane shook her head. "No, not really. I just…I'd like to rest now."

"Yeah, okay," Atton said, unsure.

Dane moved past him, slowly, her movements like those of an automaton. She passed into the hold where the rest of her crew regarded her with questioning expressions. But she said nothing to them, but continued to the starboard dorm, to her bunk.

She lay down on her bunk and was grateful that sleep came for her quickly. _A respite from all of this death…just a little while…_ But her dreams were bloody and the faces of those who had been returned to the Force, recent and long dead both, called to her.

In the darkest part of the night, Atton stood over her, watching her, a soft expression on his normally guarded face.

Her sleep was fitful and she muttered and tossed about. Atton knelt beside her and stroked her pale-blond hair. She always kept it neat and tightly pulled back in a short ponytail, but now a few wisps had escaped. "Sshh, babe, it's all right. Rest easy, now," he murmured. Under his ministrations, Dane did ease—she ceased her mutterings and was still, sleeping deeply. Atton stayed with her for a long time.


	2. Explanations and Revelations

_**Author's Note: Not too many changes, except at the end, plus some stuff removed that no one will realize is gone because it had no function. **_

**Chapter 2 **

**Explanations and Revelations**

Dane Koren didn't know how long she had slept but it seemed like days. She awoke, disoriented and sluggish, and not entirely sure where she was. After a moment she realized she was in one of the crew berths of the _Ebon Hawk_…and then everything else flooded back to her. She longed to go back to sleep for while sleeping, she didn't remember. And in her dreams, Bao-Dur was still alive.

Dane resisted the urge to sleep for she knew she must confront what lay ahead. _The sooner I do what I have to do, the sooner it will be over. _But such a trifling thought brought no relief. Dane smoothed her pale blond hair back into its ponytail, straightened her Jedi master robes, and headed for the main hold.

The hold was empty except for T3-M4 who was tooling around, stopping every now and again to inspect some piece of machinery, repair it if needed, and move on. He stopped when he saw Dane and gave a low whistle as greeting.

"Hi, T3. How's the _Hawk_?" Dane asked, kneeling in front of the little droid.

T3 hooted and beeped.

Dane nodded. "Thank you for taking such good care of it."

"Beep, beep-boop, dweee," he chattered.

Dane stood up. She caught sight of Disciple coming out of the medbay. He approached her slowly, almost carefully.

"Good to see you up and about," he said.

"How long have I been sleeping?"

"Nearly two standard days," he replied. "I think that is more than you slept altogether since our journey began," he added lightly.

Dane smiled thinly. "Yes, I could use another day or so." The levity between them was forced, as there was much unsaid in the way.

"Disciple, would you go and tell the others I wish to see them here?"

The young man wore a tight smile. "Why do I sense none of us are apt to like what you are going to say?"

Dane could not look at him. "There is much that is owed to all you—what happened between myself and Kreia, what it all meant. That is the purpose of the meeting."

There was a silence and then Disciple nodded and went about fulfilling her wish. It was clear that he did not believe her. But he did as she asked and in a matter of moments, the main hold was full. _No, it is not full, _she amended. _Bao-Dur's place is empty. _She wondered briefly how long the pain of his loss was going to last and then it occurred to her that she had likely slept through his funeral.

"Is Bao-Dur…?"

"We gave him a service," Disciple said quietly, "and then let him go. We—none of us—could bear to wake you."

Dane nodded tersely but was comforted by the thought that she had been with him when he died and that was all that mattered.

She pushed thoughts of her friend aside, and regarded the crew, each in turn. It was then she noticed, for the first time, the angry red welts on Mira's slender neck. The bounty hunter saw where Dane's eyes went and she nervously touched a hand to her throat.

"Oh, this? A little gift from Hanhaar," Mira said.

"He was here?" Dane asked, incredulously.

Mira shrugged. "Yeah, after the crash, I was pretty out of it—wandering around outside. And Hanhaar came out of nowhere. I think Kreia set it up."

"Kreia…?"

"Yeah. He told me she had brought him to Malachor V with orders to kill me. I think he owed her a life-debt too." She shrugged again. "But, I killed him." This last Mira said quickly and then looked to the ground. Dane took a step forward, prepared to heal Mira, but the bounty hunter took a step back.

"No, thanks. If it makes a scar, I want to keep it…to remind me."

"All right, but I am sorry he found you there," Dane said. "It is clear now that Kreia had many manipulations and plans that we—and I—never knew about."

There was a silence in which it became clear that the crew had questions—about what had happened and what was to come.

She told them of her meeting in the courtyard of the Enclave, and how the masters saw her as a threat. "They sought to strip me of the Force again, as if that would save the Force from me. Kreia killed them for it and though I wish that hadn't happened, I am glad they did not take the Force from me again."

Dane hugged herself and shuddered at the thought. Atton watched as she and Disciple shared a commiserating glance and he snorted.

Dane continued, speaking of how Kreia vanished to the Academy on Telos and how she—the exile—had had to fight Atris. Of this, the crew knew, but what they didn't know was of the Sith holocrons Atris had in her meditation chamber.

"Were those the Jedi 'artifacts' the Handmaiden spoke of?" asked Mira.

Dane nodded. "I will, at some point, have to go back to Telos and destroy them. They turned Atris to the dark side, or at least were instrumental in keeping her there, and I don't want them to fall into anyone else's hands."

"We can go right now," Atton said. "I'd feel better if I could put the _Hawk_ on some kind of course—we're just drifting now and that's not very safe."

Dane met his eyes, saw the eagerness in them, the light of excitement at another adventure.

Dane sighed. "I'm afraid not," she murmured.

"Why not?" Atton demanded. "We have to get going and Telos is as good a destination as any. Better than floating out here."

"I have not yet told you of what took place between myself and Kreia," Dane said. "Then, you will see."

Atton shrugged, affecting indifference but the Exile could see he was, much like Disciple, growing suspicious.

"What did that old bag have to say that's worth anything?" Atton asked.

Dane ignored his rude tone. "She told me why she had done what she had done, and what I was to her," she replied.

"And what was that?" Mira asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"I was a wound in the Force," Dane said, "and so she wanted to use me to kill it, to destroy it completely."

"That seems odd considering she wielded it herself," Visas observed.

"She admitted as much," Dane said, "but…" Her words trailed for she didn't know how to articulate her thoughts. She felt strange speaking of herself in such a way, but at last she said, "I do, indeed, carry a wound in me. There is too much that has passed that I will not explain now. I know this, however, that the wound has not turned me to the dark side. Had I done so, then Kreia could have made a weapon out of me and all of her manipulations would have come to fruition.

"Kreia told me of the future, and what is to come," she continued. "She saw our different paths and where they would lead us, and how those paths were laid down by all that had come before these last seven months."

"And did she tell you of your path?" Disciple asked slowly. He was looking at her pointedly, as he had done earlier, and Dane was sure he suspected what she was about to do.

"She did," Dane said and took a steadying breath. "I am going to find Revan, and I am going alone."

No one said anything as her words sank in. Then HK-47, with his usual tactlessness said, "Bemused statement: How interesting. New Master is going off in search of the old Master. Why, I must be allowed to come! It will be a family reunion of sorts."

Dane nodded absently. "Yes, you are right. You are coming with me," she said. She did not add that it was only because she did not trust the droid with the others and not because she wished for HK-47's company. _He may be useful, _she thought dully, and then the others broke out into argument, dispelling her thoughts.

"Alone? Why?" Disciple asked. "For what purpose?"

"Revan?" Mira snorted. "Sounds like a bad idea to me."

"You should not journey alone," Visas stated. "I have pledged my life for you, I should go and protect you."

Even T3 beeped several times in alarm. Only Atton, surprisingly, said nothing, but Dane read in his face a betrayal so deep, she could not look at him.

"Why?" Disciple repeated his question, but it was the one they all needed to be answered.

"Before Kreia died, she told me what had become of Revan, and it is this, more than anything else, that is the most important. She revealed to me that Revan is alive and is somewhere in the Unknown Regions of the galaxy. There, she is fighting with or against, the Sith. If she has kept herself in the light, then she needs my help to fight them. If she has fallen again to the dark side, then I must go and stop her. A war the likes of which the galaxy hasn't seen is coming. The Sith have only just begun."

Puzzled frowns met with this and Disciple voiced, once again, what they all were wondering. "Haven't we destroyed the Sith? On Telos? Aside from a few scattered remnants, their strength must be nothing. And now Malachor V destroyed and Korriban an empty shell….? What Sith could pose any threat?"

"The Sith that we battled were but mechanical remnants of what the Sith really are. As Kreia explained to me, the Sith are not individuals, it is a belief, an ideal. And in that sense, the Sith Empire is vastly strong. It waits, Kreia says, in the dark at the edge of the galaxy and Revan has gone there to either join it or battle it. One way or another, I must go and try to stop it. I must. I see it clearly."

"But why must you go alone?" Disciple asked. "If this great war is coming, then you will need help as well. If Revan has fallen to the dark side, then that is doubly so. Why not take any of us who are willing? We can protect you and help you as you do what needs to be done."

The others murmured agreement but for Atton. He remained motionless, his arms crossed over his chest, his gray-green eyes dark.

Dane smiled, touched by Disciple's words and the devotion that accompanied them.. "No, I'm afraid I cannot do that. Like, Revan, I must go alone, otherwise I risk destroying any who come with me. Kreia said Revan knew that and left her own love, a Republic soldier behind. And when I asked Kreia why it must be the same for me, her reply held truth in it. I will not doom any I love to the dark places I will have to walk." Here her eyes almost betrayed her for they sought Atton, but she resolutely kept them fixed on Mical.

"Perhaps," Disciple said, a tinge of ice to his voice, "the choice is not yours to make. Again, if a great war is coming, then we all must do our part to prepare. None of us can, as you seem to will us, sit idly by and wait. The doom you seek to spare us from would come anyway, and every one of us will have died ashamed."

Dane sighed. _I am too weary. _"You will not sit idly by," she said. "Each of you has your own path to take, and that path will shape events to come as surely as my own will."

Mira snorted again. "I don't know about anyone else, but I don't want my future to have anything to do with that witch and her manipulations."

"She said only what I knew already—that each of you go on to do things of great good and import. When you die—"and this she said directly to Mira—"you will not have any regrets, nor feel ashamed in the slightest."

There was another pause—an uncomfortable silence in which no one spoke.

Dane looked to Atton who had not moved at all and said, "Take us to Nar Shaddaa. I will give my final orders there and then…" her throat tightened but she continued, "then I shall take my leave of you," she finished. She loved her crew as family—after long years of being alone they had become dear to her but she held no illusions that they felt the same. She knew she was oftentimes cold and aloof but she had been a general for the Republic fleet much longer than she had been leader of this crew. In war, one did not reveal weakness, and Dane carried that ideal with her still. She turned on her heel and walked out, returning to her berth without another word.


	3. Atton's thoughts on the matter

_Author's Note: Only minor changes to Mira's and Visas' dialogue, and some things added to Atton's musings at the end. _   
Chapter 3 

**Atton's thoughts on the Matter**

After Dane's awkward departure, Atton regarded each of the crew with mounting expectancy. _Where's the mutiny? They can't let her do this? Right? _

Disciple appeared lost, as though a great dream, one he had been nourishing for a while, had been smashed to pieces, but hardly inclined to do anything about it. Atton scowled at him. _Even if he does love her—which he _shouldn't_—he is too cowardly to stop her. _ Mira threw herself onto a chair and smiled crookedly, evidently pleased to be returning to Nar Shaddaa. If Visas was in turmoil, one wouldn't know it by looking at her face. T3 beeped mournfully.

Finally, Disciple turned to Atton. "She has asked to go to Nar Shadaa," he said. "I suppose we must support her wishes no matter how much we…" His voice became hoarse and died away.

"Bullshit," Atton muttered. It was the first word he had said in a while and the others looked to him, surprised.

"Well, I know it is disagreeable—" Disciple began but Atton cut him off.

"Disagreeable? You think her running off to certain death to be with _Revan _is 'disagreeable?'" Atton's laugh was like a knife—sharp and cutting. "Well you know what, kid? For once I agree with you. I think everything she just said is completely and totally _disagreeable. _ I think, in fact, that it is bullshit."

"Atton, what are we supposed to do?" Mira asked. "We can't force her to take us with her, and we can't convince her to stay behind. She's gonna do what she's gonna do. _I _wouldn't do it, but she likes that kind of torture, apparently."

"Her way is clear to her," Visas said in a more conciliatory tone, "and it would be wrong of us to try to steer her from her course."

"You think so?" Atton said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "No, of course! God forbid any of us should try to _protect her in any way. _ Let her go the Unknown Regions. Let her go the furthest, blackest corner of the galaxy and die alone. That," he said with venom, "would be the perfect resolution to _everything we have worked for these last seven months_!"

The others were silent, and Atton could see his words had struck a chord. Finally Mira said, "I don't know, but I don't think she told us everything. I think, maybe, there is more of a reason she doesn't want us to come with her than to just piss us off."

Disciple nodded. "Perhaps you are right. Whatever happened in the Trayus Academy, there was no resolution for her. Not yet. There is more that she is supposed to do." He turned to Atton. "Please, take us to Nar Shadaa. It is her will."

Atton shook his head, his disgust and rage boiling. "Yeah, I'll go to Nar Shaddaa…I need a drink."

He stormed out of the main hold and into his seat at the head of the _Ebon Hawk_. _What a bunch of cowards, _he thought as he jabbed at his console. _Not one of them has the guts to stop her from her own fool plans. As soon as this heap in on course, I'll go talk some sense into her…_ Atton pulled the _Ebon Hawk_ from its idle drift and plotted a course for Nar Shaddaa. He went over the intercom and barked an order for everyone to prepare for the jump into hyperspace. A minute later, he revved up the hyperdrive and made the jump whether anyone was ready or not. After it was over a little voice told Atton pulling stuff like that could get someone killed and then he thought of Bao-Dur. Thinking of the Zabrak cooled the fire of his anger. He set the course for Nar Shaddaa and then slumped in his seat, unmoving.

He didn't know what to say to her either.

_Who am I to her? She won't listen to me. I'm just the pilot. I'm only as useful to her as taxi driver. She needs to go somewhere and I take her there. That's it. _ Atton's thoughts continued along this vein for some time until his mood was thoroughly fouled. _Bao-Dur would have known what to say. He could have talked sense into her with that voice of his, or at least put her to sleep with it so she wouldn't leave. _The thought made him smile. He had often teased Bao-Dur that the Iridonian's voice was so dull and quiet that Atton was thinking of banning him from the cockpit lest he put Atton to sleep while at the helm. Bao-Dur, in turn, (and who was the only member of the crew to whom Atton had confided his feelings for the Exile) would tease him, call him 'Loverboy'. He would complain of a dim future in which he envisioned a bunch of little Attons running around the _Ebon Hawk._ _Fat chance, _ Atton thought bitterly.

The ache in his heart for the thought of Dane leaving doubled as Atton mourned his friend. It was too hard, feeling this loss, and he didn't like it. So he did not get up to talk to her, but remained in his seat, his chin resting on his hand, and played Pazaak in his head, seeking solace in the bland neutrality of the numbers.


	4. Goodbye

Chapter 3

Disciple felt the change in the Ebon Hawk's speed, felt it slow down and turn, and he realized, with a pang, that Atton was docking the ship. They had arrived at Nar Shadaa.

_This is the end. Not at all as I envisioned. _ Disciple had spent that last two days since the Hawk came out of hyperspace, meditating in his room, trying to find a measure of peace. It wasn't working. Since he had met her, his every thought had been touched by Dane Koren. His waking hours were of thoughts of her, and his dreams at night were of her beautiful face, her wide mouth, her pale skin, and large, blue eyes. She was Jedi, as was he, thanks to her. She was intelligent and clever, her nature was sweet and compassionate, her laugh lightened his heart and her tears broke it. These last months had been the best of his life because of her and he could not imagine a time when he would not see her everyday. He had somehow always thought she would learn to love him, to see that he was the best suited to her. She may have had a passing interest in Atton but Disciple believed she would never choose the scoundrel over himself. But now she was leaving…and his dreams of a future with her were fading away.

Disciple opened his eyes. He tried to continue meditating, but it was useless. The Ebon Hawk rumbled and rocked once and then settled. It had landed and the time had come to say goodbye to her. He rose to his feet, smoothed his robes and centered himself. _I have to tell her I love her, _ he thought as he left his chamber. _I can't let her leave without knowing that, and perhaps, in some way, it will make a difference. _

Dane had spent the last two days in the berth. She longed to see them but she could not face them—it would be hard enough saying goodbye. And she couldn't have withstood any attempts by them to convince her to stay. _I would have caved and then my duty would have been forsworn, and I cannot allow that. _ And so she had meditated, just as Disciple had shown her, and gathered strength for when the time came to leave them.

The Ebon Hawk came to a rest and Dane's heart skipped a beat. _What must be done, will be done, _ she thought and, gathering her belongings, she left the berth.

They were all waiting for her in the main hold, silent and morose. Atton, she noticed, had resumed the exact same position he had had when she first told them she was leaving—arms crossed, face tight, eyes dark. He said nothing and did not look at her.

_Let's get this over with, _she thought.

She faced them all and said, "We have collected quite a sum of credits over the last few months. About forty-three thousand to be precise. That's nearly nine thousand for each of us, considering HK-47 is coming with me and T-3 hasn't a need. I divided it and left it in the berth.

"As for T-3, I'd like for you, if you want, to stay with the Ebon Hawk," she told the droid. "It will need your expertise and repairs now and again, I'm sure."

T-3 beeped and hooted questioningly.

"Atton," Dane answered. "The Ebon Hawk I give to Atton." He glanced up in surprise at this and met her eyes. "I would like you to take the others where they need to go, Atton, and then the Hawk is yours," she said softly. He held her gaze for a moment more and then shrugged and looked away.

Dane bowed her head and took a deep, steadying breath. "I have to go now," she said and it took every bit of her will not to break down. She looked up and smiled at her crew, her friends. "I want to thank you all for everything you have done for me. You risked much and I will never forget any of you." She laughed ruefully. "Those words are weak and powerless, I know. I haven't the facility to describe what you all mean to me." She looked at each in turn. "You all have such potential in you, such _life_. And that life is now your own, as it should be."

She stepped toward Visas. The Miraluka was inscrutable, as always. Of all the crew, Dane had never been as close to the woman as to the others. "I don't know what to say," she said quietly.

"It has been a long, strange journey," Visas replied, "and in the end, there is nothing to say except to hope that we have both been made better by our acquaintance. I know I have. I have seen you, Dane, and I know what you are. You are not a wound in the force, but its healer. You are not an exile, but perhaps the only true Jedi master left in the galaxy. You are my friend and I yours no matter how far apart our paths may take us."

Dane smiled through her tears and embraced Visas. "I _have_ been made better in knowing you, my friend. Thank you."

She turned next to Mira. The ex-bounty hunter was trying to look casual, but she could not look at Dane—her eyes darted around but could not seem to find anything to land on. Dane embraced the woman, which took her a bit by surprise. The exile felt Mira stiffen and then relax until the embrace was returned. Dane stepped back.

"How about we meet for a drink in five years?" Mira offered, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. "Say, the Jekk-Jekk Tar? You bring the breath masks, and I'll buy the drinks."

Dane smiled. "You got it. Thank you, Mira."

"For what? You did everything. I just came along for the ride."

"You hate flying in cramped, stifling ships," Dane reminded her wryly.

Mira shrugged and she looked directly at Dane. "Depends on the company. I had good company."

"As did I," Dane whispered and then she moved on to Disciple. The young Jedi appeared as though he wanted to say something but could not.

"I need you to show others the Force," Dane told him. "We will need many Jedi for what is to come. They will come to you, these Force-sensitives and you will be their Master, and then, some time from now, I will call on you to bring them forth. All right? Will you do this?"

"Of course," Disciple said, his voice rough.

Dane smiled. "You bring me peace, Disciple."

He embraced her then, and buried his face in her neck. He whispered, "I love you. I have always loved you."

Dane held on to him tightly. She pressed her lips to his ear and whispered, "I know you do, and I will take that love with me, and when I walk in dark places, it will light my way."

Disciple gripped her tighter and a short sob escaped him. She did not love him in the way that he loved her, but at least he had told her. He stood up abruptly and rapidly composed himself. "Be safe," he said, his voice hoarse. "And if you ever need anything, just ask. I will find you."

Dane nodded and pulled away from him. She wiped her eyes and steeled herself for it would hurt her the most to have to say goodbye to Atton. She looked at him, still wearing that old ribbed jacket of his, his hair tousled, his arms crossed, a sour look on his handsome features. She hadn't realized how much she had come to love him until this moment—this moment that was the beginning of never seeing him again.

"Atton," she said, her voice cracking.

"Yeah, hey, see you around," he said. His voice was cold and he still would not look at her.

"Take them where they wish to go, all right?"

"Yeah, sure," he muttered with a shrug.

Dane fought back her tears. She did not want to stop talking to him; she did not want to say goodbye like this. _And maybe he does not want to say goodbye at all, _a voice spoke up in her mind. _Leave him alone. It isn't fair to want more from him. _Dane nodded at the truth of this. "Atton…Take care of yourself, okay? Please."

Atton muttered something unintelligible and Dane did not press him. She turned away and knelt down beside T-3. "Good bye, T-3. Thank you for everything. If it weren't for you, we never would have made it off Peragus."

"Beeep, dwooo-beeep?"

"No, _you're_ my favorite droid," Dane said. "I'm only bringing HK because he has information I need," she whispered. "Take care of the Ebon Hawk, all right? And take care of _him_, will you?" She nodded at Atton, and this time could not stop the tears from falling. "He may be a pain sometimes, but he's worth it, okay?"

T-3 beeped his compliance.

Dane stood up and then it was time. She gazed fondly at the Ebon Hawk. She hadn't thought of it, but she could add the Hawk to the long list of things she regretted leaving behind as well. Her tears blurred her vision after a moment, turning the images of her friends into mirages of color in the darker interior of the ship. _How fitting, _she thought, for she could imagine long, dark roads in which the longing for her friends would hang about her like a mirage of water to one stranded in a desolate desert. _But better they be only mirages then have to suffer those long dark roads. Be happy for they are going on to lives of their own. _ Dane looked to each of them and silently made a vow that she would keep the darkness of the Sith out of their lives for as long as she could and her regret vanished to be replaced by determination. _I promise you, my friends. I promise…_

Then she hefted the small bag of her belongings and stepped off the Ebon Hawk, into the night of Nar Shadaa. Hk-47, for once, said nothing but followed her out, and then they were gone.


	5. Atton meets a certain blue Twi'lek

Atton Rand was drunk.

He was slumped over the bar at a cantina in Nar Shadaa, a collection of empty glasses arrayed in front of him. In a loud voice—louder than necessary to be heard over the jazzy music—he was extolling Dane Koren's virtues to the bartender and a bored-looking Twi'lek sitting next to him. Neither of them knew who he was talking about but that didn't seem to deter Atton in the slightest. He had, just that same day, returned from taking Disciple to Dantooine where the young Jedi hoped to work with the Administrator ­­­­in rebuilding the Enclave there with the purpose of luring Force-sensitives there. Disciple had been Atton's last passenger and while he was grateful to be done with what he saw as little more than glorified taxiing service, he now had nothing to do. So he had decided to get good and drunk, and so far, he was succeeding.

"She was th' most beautiful woman you could ever see," he slurred to the Twi'lek. "Her eyes were like little pieces of the sky and when she smiled they lit up like the sun coming out."

"Is that so?" muttered the Twi'lek. His head tails twitched with mild amusement.

"It is so," Atton insisted. He gripped the Twi'lek by the arm to demonstrate the force of his convictions. "I promise you, is she were here right now, you'd say, 'Atton,'—that's my name, and so you'd say, 'Atton, you were right. She is the most beautiful woman in the galaxy.' And I'd say, 'Twi'lek, didn't I tell you so?' And that's how _that_ conversation would go."

Atton released the Twi'lek from his grip and motioned to the bartender for another.

"So now she's the most beautiful woman in the galaxy, eh?" The bartender sniggered and poured another juma juice—Atton's fourth—and set if before the pilot. "Are you sure you should drink this?" He winked at the Twi'lek. "After this one, she'll be the most beautiful woman in the universe."

The Twi'lek and the bartender shared a laugh. Atton didn't seem to notice the fun they were having at his expense. He drained half of his newest glass and peered at the bartender through bleary eyes.

"That's right, and not only is she beautiful, she's really really nice too. There's not a mean bone in her body. An' I mean not one. Sure, she'll slice your head off with that lightsaber of hers if you're a Sith or something, but she'll feel bad about it later."

Now the Twi'lek was laughing openly, but the bartender stopped polishing his glass and leaned forward. "Lightsaber?"

Atton nodded and continued with his ramblings. "Yeah, she's the sweetest little thing I ever met. Never said a bad word about anyone. Not even to someone with 'Darth' in front of their name. No matter what horrible thing they'd says to her, like, 'I'm going to enjoy killing you'; no matter what she'd try to say something nice before she killed them. And she'd try to turn them first, every time. Every time…"

Atton was starting to not have a good time. The more he thought about Dane, the more and more despondent he became. He lapsed into silence and eventually the Twi'lek got bored and moved away. The bartender returned from helping some other patrons and leaned over the bar to Atton.

"So, if she was that beautiful, and that nice, and everything else that you say she is, why aren't you with her now?"

Atton looked up, one eye closed to ensure that he saw only one bartender instead of four, and said, "Now that is the question of the hour, my friend. Why aren't I with her now? I don't know but I think it goes something like this: she's a Jedi, and I'm just a pilot and never the twain shall meet…in bed," he finished and laughed despite the ache in his heart. That ache had begun the day she had said she was leaving and hadn't abated since. So Atton had decided to kill it with juma juice. It wasn't working. He asked for another.

"Jedi, eh?" the bartender mused as he poured Atton his fifth. "Strange…that's twice in one week." He set the glass before him and started to move off down the bar.

Atton's mind was slowed considerably by the alcohol and the bartender was nearly halfway to the other side when it occurred to Atton to ask him what he had meant by the comment. The bartender, to stop Atton's shouting, returned. "It's probably nothing, but last week I heard about a Jedi looking to buy a ship, or hire a ride off-planet. Word had it that this Jedi had been asking around without much luck for the last few weeks." He shrugged. "Not many of them left after the Civil War, so I thought it strange to hear that rumor and then listen to you go on and on about your Jedi lady-friend."

Atton had been listening with his mouth hung open in a distinctly unintelligent manner. He suddenly wished he hadn't drunk so much for he was having a hard time following the bartender's words.

"Who has the word?" he asked.

The bartender raised an eyebrow. "Come again?"

Atton shook his head and tried again. Very slowly he said, "Who told you that a Jedi was looking for a ship?"

"Oh, that would be Mission. Pretty young Twi'lek that hangs around sometimes with that big Wookie of hers. She knows and hears everything."

Atton grabbed the bartender's wrist. "Did Mission talk to the Jedi?" he asked.

The bartender was a large man and he looked down at Atton's hand gripping his wrist with wry amusement. "Look, buddy, I don't remember the conversation all that well. I wasn't paying too much attention and Mission may not have even been talking to me. It's just something I heard. You want to know if its your prettiest Jedi in the galaxy, you gotta ask Mission. Okay?"  
"Where can I find her?" Atton demanded.

The bartender pealed Atton's hand away from his wrist and used the pilot's arm as leverage to turn Atton in his seat so that he now faced the Pazaak tables. "See the blue Twi'lek? She's the one with the _Wookie _beside her," the bartender added as Atton squinted.

Atton did _not _see the blue Twi'lek but he did see a blue blur with a large shadow beside it, and that was good enough for him. He slid off his stool and took a moment to steady himself. While he tried to fish some credits out of his pocket to pay the bartender his tab, the room spun, and then Atton passed out.

He awoke sometime later, still in the cantina. He had been dumped unceremoniously in a corner chair in the lounge and left alone to sober up. He groggily sat up and looked about. The music was gone, and the cantina was nearly empty, with the remaining stragglers being herded toward the door by a very large Gamorrean bouncer. Atton thought that he had learned something of great import but he couldn't quite grasp it. His mind danced in lazy circles around it and finally he gave up and decided he had better get to finding a room to rent.

He was still rather drunk, though the room had thankfully stopped spinning, and he knew he was going to be suffering terribly in a few short hours. He oozed out of the chair and headed for the exit. As he did, he passed the bar. The bartender waved at him and gave him a knowing smile.

"Better luck next time, eh?" the bartender remarked.

Atton frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Mission," the bartender said and then started to laugh. "Oh, you poor slob, you don't even remember. The blue Twi'lek? Don't worry, she stops by every now and then. I'm sure you'll see her soon."

Atton nodded and kept walking. He didn't remember anything about a blue Twi'lek. _Oh, blast, I hope I didn't come on to some girl. _But he didn't think he would have. The pain of losing Dane was still too real. _Unless I got drunk enough…_ Atton stopped. Dane and the Twi'lek. Something clicked in his head like a slow-turning gear that finally fell into place. The Twi'lek! She heard about a Jedi…looking for a ship. With a sense of urgency so great he nearly threw up—although they may have just been the juma juice—he turned back to the bartender but the Gamorrean bouncer was now pushing him towards the door.

The bartender was waving and laughing from behind the bar. "Ah, you remember now, do you?" he laughed. "She'll be back, pilot. She's never gone for very long. Come on back. For my sake if not yours. I could always use the amusement."

Atton sputtered and tried to get past the Gamorrean but he would have had better luck trying to shove past a brick wall. With a grunt and a snort, the bouncer not-too-gently guided Atton out into the streets of Nar Shadaa and retreated back into the cantina, locking the door behind him.

Atton cursed himself as the greatest fool to have ever lived and kicked at the door in frustration. But he only kicked it once, as he was in no position to have a conversation with the bouncer. He thrust his hands into his jacket, hunched against the cold, and trudged into the night that was rapidly becoming day.

He found a seedy motel (the only kind that was open at that late hour) and took a tiny room. The bed was no more than a cot, but it was relatively clean and he dropped onto it immediately. But instead of passing out as he had thought he must, he lay awake for a long while, thinking of a blue Twi'lek and the Jedi she spoke of, and wondering at the possibilities…

Atton was back to the cantina the next night, this time drinking only water and glancing about every few seconds, his eyes searching. The bartender assured him that the Twi'lek, Mission, came around quite frequently and could show up any day. "Any day" turned out to be five. Atton had been about to give up and spend the better part of the next ten years wondering what might have been when, on the fifth night, the cantina door opened and a very large, very intimidating-looking Wookie entered, followed by a petite, pretty young Twi'lek.

"Yep, that's her," the bartender muttered. He had lost interest in the whole situation when Atton deprived him of amusement and—more to the point, credits—as the pilot had vowed to stay sober so he wouldn't miss the Twi'lek again. And here she was.

He watched her take a seat at a Pazaak table, and the Wookie took up his position behind her. Immediately the Twi'lek's bright laughter lilted through the cantina as she found an opponent and the two began to play.

"A bit of advice," the bartender said, his voice suddenly low and not very friendly. "I can see you're an off-worlder, so let me tell you something. Nar Shadaa is not a nice place. You're a sharp guy, so maybe you've noticed that. I admit it and I've lived here for nigh on twenty years. Mission Vao is one of the few bright spots. She helps people, you know? So I don't want you harassing her. And you may think to because she is not going to spill her secrets easily. If she does know anything about a Jedi needing help, she's not going to go spreading it around, unless it helps the Jedi. You get my meaning?"

"Yeah, she's tough nut to crack," Atton said. "I won't bother her, I promise," he added as the bartender's glance grew darker.

"See that you don't," the bartender said, and released Atton.

Atton heaved a breath and made his way through the crowds to the Pazaak den. Mission was playing and chatting with her opponent, obviously very much at ease. Now that he was closer, Atton judged her to be in her mid-twenties, though something in her eyes told him she had seen a lot. The Wookie behind her was silent, watching everyone who came and went in true bodyguard fashion.

Atton waited until Mission had beaten—and rather spectacularly too—her opponent. She scooped the goodly wager towards her with a laugh. "Thank you, Garluk," she called after the rodian, "for your generous donation!" Her eyes fell on Atton who standing at the ready. "You want to play?" she asked.

_Don't mess this up, _Atton thought. _If she thinks you're a creep or a stalker, she may not tell you anything. _Atton affected his most charming smile and took the seat across from her. "Don't mind if I do. It looks like you could do with some real competition."

He had meant it as a compliment, but he could see the Twi'lek thought he was bragging. She smirked and dumped the credits she had won into a satchel at her waist. He quickly backtracked.

"I mean, you seem very skilled," he said lamely. "You look as though you probably beat everyone who tries to play you," he added. Now the Twi'lek thought he was trying to pick her up for she raised an eyebrow.

"Why don't we just play?" she offered. "Your wager?"

Atton relaxed a bit. If there was one thing he could do well, it was play Pazaak, and the words 'Your wager?' were like music to his ears. "How about a hundred credits?" he said.

Mission smiled a crooked smile. "Works for me." She plunked down the credits and began shuffling her side deck.

Atton smiled back. He still had nearly all of the nine thousand credits Dane had left him, and since the room he rented was hardly the type of place to leave that kind of money lying around, he had had to carry all of it on him. Carefully, so that no one could get an idea of just how much money he had, he pulled out a stack of credits and laid out one hundred. He then fished out his most prized possession, (besides the double-bladed lightsaber Dane had given him), his Pazaak side deck.

"I'm Mission Vao. This here is Zaalbar," she jerked a thumb toward the Wookie behind her. "What's your name?" the Twi'lek asked.

"Atton," he replied and shook the girl's hand.

"All right, Atton, let's see if you're any good," she said and dealt four cards from her side deck face down in front of her. Atton did the same and then the game began.

Mission was good. She was so good, in fact, that Atton almost didn't beat her the first round. The set had been stuck at two to two for nearly twenty minutes as they both tied again and again. Finally, Mission stood on a nineteen and thought she had him beat when he drew a six to add to his eighteen. But Atton had one card left in his side deck. He flipped over the plus-or-minus four and laid it down so that it knocked his count down to twenty. Mission squealed with the laughing disappointment of one who was clearly enjoying herself despite the loss.

The second round they played for a hundred credits again so that Mission had the opportunity to win her money back. He didn't let her beat him—he knew she was too smart for that and would have known what he was up to—but he stopped playing as sharply as was his usual, and Mission won her credits back.

She leaned across the table. "This is fun. You're very good," she said. "One more round? But this time, let's up the wager….make it interesting. How about three hundred credits?"

Atton smiled and shuffled his side deck idly. He didn't want to take the girl's money but he had to keep talking to her. Before he could speak, a tall, green Twi'lek stepped up to the table and greeted Mission.

"How is the refuge going?" he asked after their initial hellos. "Well, I hope."

Mission beamed. "Very well, Tondoon. Emika is learning to read faster than we can teach her and Haplo has decided he is not going to join the Exchange after all."

"That is wonderful!" replied Tondoon. "Keep up the good work." He laid a hand on Atton's shoulder. "Unless you're very good, you will lose to Mission, but don't feel bad. Your credits will go to a worthy cause."

"And what cause might that be?" Atton asked Mission as Tondoon moved on.

Mission's smile was ear to ear and she spoke with obvious pride. "I run a refuge for young people who have no homes or are runaways," she said. "Nar Shadaa is a rough city, you know? It's hard for kids to make it on their own. So, four years ago, I came here and started to help them."

"And you keep it running on Pazaak winnings?"

She laughed. "Nah, Big Z and I come here to relax and win a little extra. But yeah, when I take your three hundred credits, it will go to the refuge."

Atton liked that. He liked the girl more, and when he lost his three hundred credits, he was glad of it.

"Now, Atton, because you have donated so generously to my refuge, you must let me buy you a drink," Mission said, scooping her earnings away.

Atton agreed, and did not fail to catch the appraising look in the Twi'lek'seyes when he turned to hail a waiter. _Will you quit messing around and get to it? _he berated himself. _Enough time has slipped away—she may already be gone. _The bartender's warning came back to him that Mission wouldn't talk idly, but he felt he was running out of time.

He ordered the drinks and then was about to ask Mission directly what she knew about a Jedi looking for a ride off Nar Shadaa, when the Twi'lek asked, "So, Atton, what is it you do?"

He couldn't believe his luck. Rapidly, a plan formed as to how he could get the information from Mission without prying. "I'm a pilot," he said and affected a rueful laugh. "Wish I could say the work was steadier. But, not too many people have need of getting off planet recently."

_Very subtle. Like a Gamorrean's breath is only _subtly_ stagnant. _But Mission narrowed her eyes and regarded him in a more scrutinizing fashion.

"Really?" she asked. "What kind of ship do you have?"

"A very fast one," he replied.

Mission didn't appear impressed. "My swoop bike's fast," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "How is it on long hauls?"

Atton sat up and leaned over the Pazaak table "Why? You going somewhere far, far away?"

"Maybe," Mission replied. "Or maybe I know someone who is."

Atton's heart began to thump in his chest. He tried his very best to appear casual as he said, "I may be interested. I heard of a Jedi looking for a lift off-planet as well. Know anything about it?"

"Again, maybe. What's it to you?"

_Only my eternal happiness…_

He shrugged. "Jedi's tend to have credits. I'm broke. It's simple math, really."

The Twi'lek sat back in her chair and studied him. He thought he had slipped by saying he was broke—no impoverished Pazaak player would wager three hundred credits unless he had the Exchange after him and was desperate. Atton waited to see if she had caught on. Finally she said, "Listen, Atton, you're really cute and all, and a hell of a Pazaak player, but I really haven't the slightest idea if I can trust you, you know?"

_This is taking entirely too long._

"Listen, kid, do you know someone who needs my services or not? 'Cause otherwise, I'm going to want to find that Jedi before she finds another ride."

Mission bristled at the 'kid' remark but managed to keep her composure. She leaned forward and said in a low voice,

"Do you really have a ship that can make long hauls? No fooling?"

"No fooling," Atton replied.

Mission seemed to come to some sort of a decision about him because she loosened up and said, "Listen, my friend and the Jedi are one and the same. I like her… a lot. She's one of the nicest people I've met, you know? I'd really like to help her out, so if you're serious and your ship can do what you say it does, then I'm interested. But if you're just another nerf-herding space jock with a bucket of bolts for a hyper-drive, then my friend is just going to have to keep looking."

"I'm not," Atton said, his heart soaring. "And for the last time, my ship is one of the best, I promise." He cleared his throat and said, "So, what's your friend's name?"

Mission raised an eyebrow.

"I just want to know who I'm working for," he said innocently.

"Well, you're not working for anyone yet. But if you're telling the truth, then I'll tell Dane about you. Anyway, she likes to keep a low profile so I have offered to check out potential rides for her. Where is your ship?"

Atton didn't hear the rest of the Twi'lek's words. He just heard that name and he closed his eyes savoring the feeling. _Unbelievable. Of all the cantinas on all of Nar Shadaa, and I found her. _

"Um, hello?" Mission waved a hand in front of his face. Atton snapped back to attention, smiling so wide he thought his face would split.

"Yes? Sorry, I…what did you say?"

"I said, where is your ship? I promised Dane I would check out any potential rides for her."

"That's very nice of you," Atton said, grinning wider than ever. "I'll take you there now," he said. "You know, I'm surprised your friend—Dane—hasn't had better luck." _Actually, I couldn't be more stunned than if a bantha herd trampled through the door, took up seats at the bar, and ordered a round. _

"There are lots of pilots looking for work around here," he continued as he and the Twi'lek and her Wookie walked out in the cool night air.

"Yeah, I told her the same thing, but the kind of ships Dane is looking for all belong to members of the Exchange, and she specifically said she would have no dealings with them. Can't say that I blame her."

"No, me neither," Atton remarked, still grinning stupidly. Then a troubling thought occurred to him. If Mission was acting as Dane's representative, the minute the Twi'lek reported that Atton and the Ebon Hawk were offering their services, the Jedi would disappear. _And I won't have such an easy time of finding her again—not by a long shot. _

Atton contemplated this predicament as they walked toward his docking bay. He couldn't possibly know, of course, that he was going to have a whole new set of problems as soon as Mission Vao set her eyes upon the Ebon Hawk for the first time in four years…

_Thanks to qt taking the time to review. Feedback is always appreciated. Chapter 4 is on the way, and I promise the lightsabers will come out… _


	6. Alone

Chapter 6

Alone

Dane Koren stepped slowly and carefully down the alley. She was dressed in plain clothes so as not to draw unwanted attention. Her lightsaber she kept tucked in her belt at her back, out of sight for the most part, and she wore a blaster in plain view in front. It had been nearly seven months since she and her crew had been on Nar Shaddaa and Dane had no way to know if some members of the Exchange still thought there was a bounty on Jedis. Caution told her she shouldn't have even brought the lightsaber, but there was no way she was going into this meeting without it. _But even if there is still a bounty, there's no one left to pay it…I've killed them all. _The thought was not a comforting one.

She paused in her walk down the alley. _This isn't right, _she thought. _I shouldn't continue. _But another, more urgent voice spoke up. _You must find a ship! You have wasted too much time already! _ She had spent nearly four weeks on Nar Shaddaa and every minute had been a fruitless one. Endless hours she spent in cantinas and around swoop tracks, asking around for a pilot with a ship that would take her off-planet. She had prospects but the ships she was offered were junk heaps that she doubted could break out of Nar Shaddaa's atmosphere, let alone take her closer to the Unknown Regions. "You want something better," the grumbling pilots would tell her, "you gotta go to the Exchange." Apparently, the crime organization still had a death grip on business in and around Nar Shaddaa and any pilot who had credits or a decent ship was quickly relieved of both. She had made a vow to not do business with the Exchange—to not put one more credit in their coffers. But in her heart, she knew she was just stalling. The vow was an empty one, and so, a week and a half ago, she had decided to call upon them.

First, she sent HK-47 out to gather information on some of the more prominent members of the Exchange that may be lurking in the vicinity of the apartment she had rented. "Kill no one unless threatened," she ordered him. "Just bring me some names and background information so when their thugs come calling, I'll know who I'm dealing with." The assassin droid had departed no doubt hoping very much that someone would try to dismantle him and sell him for parts; anything to give him an excuse. Dane hadn't seen him in a week. She was almost concerned.

Two days later a blue Twi'lek named Mission offered to help her out and even found a few prospects. But neither of them panned out and Dane hadn't seen Mission in four days. She was impatient with waiting for HK-47 and did not want to rely on the sweet-natured Twi'lek girl. And so Dane embarked on the risky business of getting the attention of the Exchange.

But to get a thug or two to notice her, she knew from experience that she would have to draw them towards her. She did so by finding a prominent swoop track and annihilating every other racer's times until she had more credits than she could possibly spend. This prompted an unhealthy-looking woman with the improbable name of Slyrma to slither out of the shadows and tell Dane that her boss wanted the Exile to race for him. Slyrma laughed a lot, chain-smoked cigarras and looked as though she would gut a man as soon as look at him. She was older, perhaps fifty, with wiry hair and papery skin that was stretched tight over face that gave her a very rodent-like appearance. She dressed in garish colors and had a gravelly, gratin voice. Dane found her thoroughly repulsive but had reluctantly agreed to meet with the Slyrma's boss. The boss turned out to be a hutt named Dibbuk. HK-47 had not returned with any information on this hutt—or anyone else—but Dane was getting desperate. She took the meeting.

Slyrma had told Dane to meet her at the bar of the Hakken-Hak cantina. From there, she would take her to meet Dibbuk. And so here she was, walking down a filth-littered ally toward a cantina that sounded as though it was named after someone clearing his throat. It was in a shadier section of Nar Shaddaa, which is to say even the vagrants were armed. Dane's hand hovered over her blaster every step of the way.

She continued down the alley, passing a pair of scantily clad Twi'leks who mewed and undulated at her suggestively. Dane ignored them and arrived at a door in the center of the alley. From behind it came the muffled sound of music and raucous laughter. In front of it, stood a very large, very bad-tempered Trandoshan

"Slyrma," Dane answered the Trandoshan's inquiry. The grunted, looked Dane up and down with its yellow eyes, and then finally opened the door just wide enough for her to sneak through.

The Exile was immediately assaulted by the odors of stale beer and the body sweat of a dozen different species. The interior was dark, the air thick with cigarra smoke. Tired-sounding music gave background to the voices of the many patrons, as the cantina was extremely crowded. Dane pressed her way into the throng, fighting a very strong urge to stasis-field the entire establishment to keep groping hands off of her. Her lightsaber was in a prime spot to be stolen and so she shoved it into her boot.

The bar had a good number of life forms arranged around it but she heard a voice calling her name and saw Slyrma waving her over. Dane shoved her way towards her, earning herself a few muttered curses and the attentions of one very angry-looking mercenary who instantly picked a fight.

"Watch where you walk!" he exclaimed as Dane trod on his boot.

"Sorry," she muttered and made to continue when a rough hand gripped her arm painfully and began to squeeze. The mercenary yanked her to him so that his grizzled face inches from hers, his rancid breath wafting over her.

"You had better do more than apologize," he leered at her and licked his lips.

The warrior instinct in Dane was ready to dismantle the man but she knew that his kind out-numbered her about a hundred to one, and so she made her face placid and said, "You want to let go of my arm," she said.

The man's face twisted for a moment, as though he had heard a foreign language and was trying to interpret it. Then he muttered, "I'll let go of your arm," and he did.

"You want me to leave you alone," Dane said.

"Leave me alone!" the man repeated and turned back to his drink.

"Dane, my Dane, my speedy little dame, you made it," Slyrma cooed as the Exile joined her at the bar. "You know Gregon?" she asked with a nod toward the mercenary. "He's a merc, though I don't know that he's done a job in ages. He thinks his assignment is to drink himself to death," she said and laughed. Smoke billowed out of her nostrils as Slyrma puffed on what was to be one of dozens of cigarras.

Dane was not amused. She wasn't fooled by Slyrma's friendly act either. The woman was dangerous and the second she believed Slyrma was her friend would be the same second the woman plunged a vibroblade into her back. "Where's your boss?" she demanded.

"There you go again, my little darling of the track," Slyrma chortled. "Always in such a hurry! I suppose that's what makes you such a prize swoop racer. Relax! Have a drink." Slyrma ordered Dane some greenish concoction that she promised was the house's specialty. Dane took one whiff and left it untouched. The woman was eyeing Dane up and down, as one would appraise a nerf steer before it was put on the block.

"Slyrma, I want to see Dibbuk and I want to see him now," Dane said.

The older woman threw up her hands. "Alright, alright, only for you my little peach, and only because you're going to make Dibbuk a load of credits—of which, I get a share of course."

"Of course," Dane muttered as Slyrma oozed off her stool and led Dane towards the rear of the cantina. Dane did not see two large, black-clad men, both armed, detach themselves from the droves to silently follow after.

The crowd was thinner there and as they walked they passed by the Pazaak tables. Dane instantly thought of Atton and her heart thudded dully in her chest. But they had arrived and she was presented to Dibbuk—a very old and very fat hutt.

Dibbuk's eyes were yellowed and his mouth was encrusted with dried saliva. His skin was grayish and mottled and his little arms sat on a stomach that protruded obscenely. Dane began to rethink her decision to deal with members of the Exchange. _Just find out if he has a ship, what it'll take to use it, and then get the hell out of here!_

But before she could speak, the hutt and the woman held a meeting. Dibbuk mumbled in his language to Slyrma, "This her?"

Dane could speak huttese but it was clear that both Slyrma and Dibbuk stupidly assumed she couldn't. The exile kept this information to herself, however—no need to give up such an advantage. And soon enough it became abundantly clear that she had made the right decision.

"I found her at the swoop track," Slyrma told Dibbuk and then smiled condescendingly to Dane. Dane affected a dim, uncomprehending expression and pretended to be interested in the upholstery of the much abused cushion Dibbuk lay upon, or the array of delicate wine glasses and bottles the hutt kept beside him.

"I told her you would pay her well for racing," Slyrma continued. "And she is fast… you should see her with a swoop bike between her legs." Slyrma and Dibbuk snickered. "I told Dibbuk your swoop times and we both are just laughing at the profit possibilities!" Slyrma explained to Dane.

"No swoop," Dibbuk mumbled then, his laughter suddenly gone. Dane saw his yellow eyes narrow at her and watched as his mottled tongue lolled over his lips like a worm feeling its way out of its hole. "You take her to Jarra, Jarra put her to work…"

Dane listened with revulsion as the hutt went on to explain exactly how she was to work for him and it did not involve swoop racing. Anger colored her cheeks but kept her face placid.

"I don't have time for this," Dane said. "Too much talk, not enough pay," she told Slyrma and made to leave. Two burly men, one armed with a vibroblade, the other a heavy blaster, barred her way. Dane's heart nearly leapt out of her chest in fear before she could calm herself. _Stay sharp, dammit! You hadn't even known they were there. _She made ready to draw upon the Force and heard Slyrma's grating laughter. But it was a dead laugh, for there remained no trace of the woman's light-heartedness. Her eyes were cold slits as she regarded Dane.

"Sorry, my peach," she said, taking a menacing step forward. Dane could feel the two men behind her draw near as well. Slyrma touched her dry, papery fingers to Dane's cheek. "You're too pretty to be a swoop racer, anyway."

Dane didn't reply but lowered her right arm and stretched her fingers downward. The lightsaber tucked into her boot started to tremble as she used the Force to try to call it to her hand. Dibbuk was laughing a deep, lascivious laugh. "Take her to Jarra," Slyrma ordered the men behind Dane, still stroking her cheek, her burning cigarra only inches from Dane's eyes. "Have you ever been on a pleasure barge?" she asked the Exile. "I think you will enjoy it. I know our clients will enjoy _you_…"

One of the men behind Dane clamped a hand on her shoulder at the precise moment her lightsaber came free of her boot and flew into her waiting hand. She ignited it instantly and spun around in an arc of green light. The thug cried out and clutched his forearm where she had burned him. Slyrma's mouth hung open in a soundless scream, and in the stunned silence that followed the sudden flurry of motion, there came the sickening thud of Slyrma's hand striking the ground. The woman looked first at the charred stump of her wrist, and then down at the ground where her hand lay, still clutching a cigarra between its first and second fingers.

Slyrma found her voice, screamed and the moment was broken. The scene erupted into a flurry of action.

"Mek'lack ot soo'sheh pooluna Jedi!" Dibbuk cried and put his tiny hands over his eyes in a pathetic gesture of warding.

Dane felt the wind of a passing vibroblade and rolled away a second before it would have sliced her throat. She drew her lightsaber up and it struck the thug's vibroblade with that distinct clashing sound that only a lightsaber makes. The thug had a rudimentary knowledge of the blade, Dane noticed, and seemed to rely mostly on his great strength. Dane instantly went into a flurry, striking at him so fast and from so many angles, he couldn't possibly defend himself and he went down in a heap in a matter of moments.

The second thug had been fumbling with his heavy blaster but his right arm had been rendered useless. He managed to raise it and even fired off a shot, but by that time Dane was ready for him. She knocked the blaster as he fired it and his shot went astray, straight into the little table of glasses and bottles. She finished him off with an easy strike to his abdomen.

The sound of shattering glass is always a sure way to draw attention, and this time was no exception. The music in the cantina stopped and a hundred different conversations ceased. Dane felt all eyes drawn to the darkened corner where the patrons were treated to the sight of a lightsaber-wielding woman standing amid two dead bodies, a wailing, one-handed crone, and a cowering hutt. Dane was no fool—she knew that if Dibbuk was of the Exchange, then the two thugs she had dispatched were only a particle of the hutt's personal guard. And she was right.

A young man stepped forward, surveyed the damage and say, "Hey!" in a put-upon manner, as if Dane had merely stolen his play toy rather than killed his boss. A half a dozen of the young man's comrades detached themselves from various areas of the cantina and approached. Dane was disappointed to note that nearly half of them carried blasters. That didn't worry her. She was confident she could deflect their shots—for a time anyway. It was where those deflections would end up that bothered her. The patrons of the Hakken-Hak were distasteful and more than a lot of them were probably criminals, but they didn't deserve to die. That left her one option, as far as she could see.

Dane dashed over Slyrma, who lay curled on the floor and moaning beside her dismembered hand, to Dibbuk. She laid the glowing green blade of her saber against the hutt's neck.

"I will kill him," she called to the approaching thugs. She figured her threat didn't have too much weight—there was probably at least one among their number who had delusions of the hutt's demise and his own fortuitous rise to power. But all Dane wanted was some time. As she had hoped, none of the thugs armed with blasters took a shot, but all six of them crept forward, cutting her off from any exit. None of them were smart enough to realize she had weapons at her disposal that had nothing to do with blades or blasters. Dibbuk must have realized his lackeys' mistakes for he whimpered to them in his guttural language that she was Jedi. But it was too late.

The thugs were in range now, some smiling stupidly for they clearly thought they had her cornered. The other patrons in the bar watched in silence. Dane hesitated. She didn't want to kill the helpless hutt but she couldn't abide knowing Dibbuk lived to enslave other girls. Her decision was taken away from her when she noticed the hutt's little hand had strayed toward the table full of broken glass and he had taken up a large, jagged shard. The hutt struck at her, intending slit her throat with the glass. She ended him with a flash of her lightsaber. No sooner had she finished the deadly strike then she threw out a stasis-field over the thugs. Instantly all six went rigid and Dane did not waste any time. She raced through the cantina and towards the door before any of the patrons decided to avenge their fallen comrades. But this was Nar Shaddaa. A few moments after Dane had gone, the patrons had shrugged and resumed their conversations while the bodies of the dead grew cold a few feet away. Slyrma, her face pale and drawn with pain, and her breath coming in short gasps, tucked her handless arm into her coat and, with a trembling left hand, lit a cigarra.

Dane rushed down the alley, out into the street, and headed toward the apartment she had rented. She did not stop running until she arrived at the lodgings—two small rooms and a refresher—and had closed and locked the door. _Only four weeks,_ she thought bitterly. _I can't make it any longer than four weeks without killing anyone. _ She took a few steps into the apartment.

It was empty—HK-47 had not yet returned, and the apartment was quiet. Quiet and barren. Dane went to the window and watched the repulsorlifts speed by in a blur. Her apartment was on the fourth floor of the building and if she looked down, she could see clearly the throngs of people walking by. Nar Shaddaa was alive…and every single part of it reminded her of Atton. The Pazaak dens, the cantinas, even the scantily clad Twi'leks—all of it called to mind the roguish pilot with his sharp tongue and wry humor. The way he shuffled his Pazaak cards or threw back a glass of juma…_He must be so far away. _Dane sighed.

Looking out into the city now—a thick plexiglass window between her and Nar Shaddaa, she suddenly felt lonelier than she had ever been. Without Atton at her side, she was a stranger to the Smuggler's Moon. _Now, I was nearly kidnapped, and I can't even negotiate a ride off-planet. Such a simple task… _For the last seven months, she had been called Exile more times than she could count, but it wasn't until this moment, standing in this empty apartment, that she had ever felt like one so acutely. The vibrant, pulsating life that was Nar Shaddaa was not to be shared with her. She could only watch it, and feel it, but she was not of it.

_I am tired of this hurt, _she thought and then she was angry. Angry at HK-47 for being gone so long. Angry at that blubbering, awful hutt she had had to kill because he enslaved young girls to lifetimes of nightmares. Angry at her crew for doing as she asked, and angry at herself for asking it. Angry at Atton for not being with her on his Smuggler's Moon and angry at the Jedi Code that said she could not have him even if he was.

And then, in perfect defiance of the Code that preached keeping emotions in check, the heat of a rage she hadn't ever experienced burned up her tears. There was a small vase—some cheap knickknack the apartment came with—on the windowsill. Without thinking, Dane struck it so that is smashed to the floor in a thousand pieces. The small table beside her went next, and then the chronometer at her bedside. She lashed out until the chambers were in shambles and her strength had given out. She collapsed on the little bed and stared for long moments at the ceiling, listening to the silence.

For three days she stayed there, lying on her back on the cot, getting up only to go to relieve herself. She ate nothing and slept very little except in fitful stops and starts, until one night she fell into a deep, heavy sleep that brought dreams…

"_Feeling sorry for yourself, General? That's not like you."_

"_I'm tired of feeling this way."_

"_What way?" _

"_Alone. Lonely. It hurts too much."_

"_You've hurt worse."_

"_Is that supposed to make me feel better? You won't stay, I know, and then I will hurt again. I'm_ _sick of it."_

"_General, I didn't come here to remind you that it was _your_ decision to leave them. You know that. Nor did I come to tell you to stop wasting your time second-guessing your decisions. You had to do what you had to do."_

"_Then why did you come?"_

"_To give you the advice you were going to ask me before I died…if you still want it."_

"_Yes. More than anything."_

"_Go back out into that world and embrace it. Open your eyes to it, General. Open your heart to it."_

"_I did and all I found was lechery and death."_

"_You found the Nar Shaddaa you were seeking. Look again."_

"_What is wrong with me? I am so weak. During the war I was strong. These last months I was strong. I survived the loss of the Force in me, and I was strong. Why can't I fight this?"_

"_General, go and find him. You have time enough before you seek out Revan. Find him and—"_

"_I can't. The Code…"_

"_Forget it. Write a new one. You may be the only Jedi left, you know."_

"_It is forbidden to love, and I have sinned enough against the Council. They will not strip me of the Force—not again. I will not allow it. _

"_General, this _is_ no Council."_

"_There will be. Disciple will see to it."_

"_He would never harm you, you know that."_

"_I know. Bao-Dur… I miss you."_

"_I miss you too, General. But I am not the only one. Not by a long shot."_

"_Will you come back?"_

"_I don't know. Maybe. In the meantime, take care of yourself. Find him and take care of _him_. The Force knows he probably needs it."_

"_My friend…"_

There was no response but Dane awoke with a slant of morning sunshine falling over her, warming her. She sat up quickly, blinking back the sleep and looked quickly around the room. It was empty, but not as it had been the night before. Her awareness told her of something…left behind. _It is though a candle has been blown out and I can smell the sweet scent of the smoke that still hangs in the air. _ Tears came to her eyes for Bao-Dur, but she brushed them away and smiled a gentle smile. She remembered the words of the dream—_was it a dream, or something much more?—_and felt stronger. She had had a moment of weakness, but she would not let it linger. She would not break the Code; she felt the truth of what Kreia had told her about going alone, as Revan did. _I will not doom anyone I love to whatever fate lies before me. But stay with me, Bao-Dur, _she thought, _and perhaps I can bear it easier. _ There was no answer but the sounds of Nar Shaddaa coming to life. Dane went again to the window and took it all in… and smiled.


	7. And then confusion set in

Chapter 7

And then confusion set in…

The Wookie, the Twi'lek and the pilot walked in silence to the docking bay where he kept the Ebon Hawk. Mission had attempted some conversation, but Atton was preoccupied with figuring out a way to get the Twi'lek to take him to see Dane straightaway. _I'll tell her I'm in a hurry…I meet the Jedi tonight or the deal's off—that kind of thing. _ Satisfied, Atton looked to the Twi'lek.

"So listen, sister, I'll give you the grand tour of the ship and then we go meet your friend," he said. "I got things to do, you know."

Mission regarded him skeptically. "What's your sudden hurry?"

"Nothing, nothing," Atton said. "I just want to get this over with. Feels like a job interview."

"Well, it is," Mission laughed and shared a glance with the Wookie.

They rounded the corner and the docking bay, with the Ebon Hawk parked on it, came into view. Atton was about to put forth another argument when both the Twi'lek and the Wookie came to a dead halt—a frozen look of astonishment on their faces.

Atton mistook their expressions and beamed with pride. "Yep, there she is. I told you she was something special."

Mission's mouth gaped and Atton imagined that if she had been drinking something when the Hawk came into view, she would have coughed it out. "Is…is th-that," she stammered while Zaalbar suddenly began pacing like a caged beast. "Is that the-the E-Ebon Hawk?" Mission squeaked in a tiny little voice.

Atton nodded. "Sure is," he said and before he could really contemplate how Mission knew his ship's name, the cute little Twi'lek hauled off and punched Atton right in the face.

He came to just a few moments later. He was lying on the ground with Mission bent over him, softly slapping his cheeks to get him to come around and bombarding him with questions.

"Where did you get it? Where?" she demanded. "And don't you tell me you don't know or I'll have Big Z here tear your arms off."

Atton brushed away her slapping hands and sat up slowly. His nose felt as though it had been rammed into the back of his skull.

"What in the name of…what did you do that for?" He touched his nose gingerly and was relieved that it was not broken, though a thin trickle of blood leaked from it. "And what do you mean, 'Where did I get it'? She's mine. I've been piloting her for nearly a year," he added with a nervous glance at the Wookie who was still pacing with his eyes on the Hawk and a low guttural growl issuing continuously from his throat. The Twi'lek's eyes darted between himself and the ship as though to make sure neither one disappeared when she wasn't looking. _They've lost their minds. Someone must've spiced their drinks._

Carefully, slowly, with no sudden movements, Atton got to his feet. "Hey, it's getting late. Maybe you should, I don't know, call it a night. You look a little peaked." _She looks a little cracked._ If you could just tell me where your friend is—"

"Shut up," Mission snapped and suddenly grabbed Atton by the collar. She barely came up to his chin but Atton felt the presence of the Wookie behind him and so he let the Twi'lek yank him down so that they were nose to nose. "Listen to me, pilot. I want to know where you got that ship. I need to know. Please, tell me. I have to know if she's b—I have to know."

"What's it to you?" _Wrong answer, bub, _he thought as the Wookie's growl rumbled in his ear and Mission's eyes blazed.

"Tell me!" she yelled.

Atton gave up. _May as well tell her the truth. Her Wookie's going to make a roast out of me if I don't. _"A Jedi gave her to me, all right? A blond Jedi with blue eyes. Maybe you know her?"

The Twi'lek's reaction to those words was spectacular.

Atton's collar slipped through her nerveless fingers and her blue skin paled to a frightening shade of gray. Her head tails twitched so badly Atton worried they were going to put an eye out. "A Jedi…?" she breathed and Zaalbar, standing right behind Atton, roared so loud it seemed to the pilot as though the sound was coming out of his own head. He covered his ears and started to gauge the distance between these lunatics and the safety of the Hawk. But before he could summon the Force or pull a blaster, that Twi'lek reared back and slugged him in the face for the second time and Atton sank into blackness.

He awoke to much the same scene as before. Mission was bent over him, gently slapping his cheeks, and his face was bloated with pain. This time she had caught him in the lower lip, splitting it neatly in two. He sat up slowly and spat a wad of blood onto the street. In typical Nar Shaddaa tradition, not a single person walking by had stopped to see what the commotion was about.

"Dammit!" Atton said, getting to his feet and this time he ignited his double-bladed light saber the moment the dizziness had passed. A good-sized knot was forming at the back of his head where it had struck the ground. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He swung his lightsaber is an arc, warding them off.

Mission's eyes widened at the site of the orange blades. Zaalbar roared again and raised his bowcaster, but the Twi'lek made a motion with her hand and the Wookie lowered his weapon.

"I'm so sorry!" Mission exclaimed. "I don't know why I slugged you—"  
"Twice," Atton spat, wiping more blood off his chin.

"Twice," Mission agreed. "I don't know what came over me. I just saw the Hawk and then you mentioned…the Jedi and I just…" she shrugged in a distinctly girlish manner before her features hardened again. She regarded his lightsaber. "Are you a Jedi too?"

"I suppose," he muttered. He hadn't felt like a Jedi—nor acted like one—since Dane had left.

Mission nodded. "Did she train you?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah, she did."

"Is she here?" Mission's voice was practically a whisper.

Atton frowned. "I think you were the one who told me that."

The Twi'lek seemed confused but Atton wasn't thinking as clearly as he might have before she sent him to the pavement—twice. He felt as though they were having two different conversations.

Mission shook her head and tried again. "Listen, I know that it may be difficult for you to talk about it, especially if she has fallen to the dark side again, you know? Has she? No, I guess not. I mean, you seem like a nice enough guy; you probably wouldn't work for her if she had. But if you can talk about her, you know, if she hasn't forbid you to secrecy or anything like that, it would be nice to know if she is…okay. I miss her you know? And I know Carth does too. Oh, blast! Has she seen Carth? Is she going to see him? Poor guy. I hope so. He was such a wreck after she left, you know?" Mission gazed fondly on the Ebon Hawk while Atton stared at her as if she had just sprouted another head. "I sure miss that old bag of bolts. And I can't believe _she_ came back. Isn't that amazing, Big Z?"

"Who…" Atton began slowly, "the hell are you talking about? Who is Carth? How do you know the Hawk? Just what in the name of my great-grandmother's beard is going on here?"

Mission snorted indelicately. "You don't know Carth Onasi? _Admiral _Carth Onasi?" She put her hands on her hips. "And I suppose you don't know me or Big Z either? What? She didn't mention us? Don't tell me you've worked for Revan these last—how long did you say? Seven months?—and not know who we are."

"Revan?" Atton's had swam. The conversation had clearly gone out of control and he was not in any position to steer it back. The Twi'lek was obviously insane and while he didn't much enjoy dealing with insane Twi'leks, this particular one happened to know where Dane was. Atton had to finally admit that he was so in love with Dane that he would put up with much more than Mission's rambling to see her again. _I would fly half way around the galaxy just to look at her once more. _ He flicked a switch and the orange blades of his lightsaber hissed away. He was suddenly very tired.

"Look, sister. Just tell me where Dane is, will you? I need…I need to see her. You know Dane, right? The Jedi? Please tell me where she is. I want to tell her I have the Hawk and I'll take her wherever she wants to go. I'll take her anywhere…"

Mission's eyes narrowed and Atton missed the look that passed between her and the Wookie.

"Dane is the Jedi, eh?" she muttered. "Blond haired, blue-eyed… Something strange is going on here, Big Z," she said and the Wookie agreed. "All right, flyboy, we'll take you to Dane. I think both you and she have a lot of explaining to do. Zaalbar?"

Atton felt the Wookie's enormous hand clamp down on his shoulder and he was led away like a prisoner behind the Twi'lek. _Well, this is not quite how I imagined it, but hell, who cares? In the long run, this is not the moment I am going to remember the most…_


	8. The Force works in mysterious ways

Aside: I realized that names of boats and ships and even a smuggler's freighter are usually italicized, so from now on, the _Ebon Hawk _will look like that. Thank you to the reviewers!

The Force works in mysterious ways…

The sun was setting behind the endless parade of metallic skyscrapers that was Nar Shaddaa. The cityscape was bathed in an orange-red glow that glinted like fire off the silver spires and turrets. Dane had begun her work when the sun was ablaze over the city and likely wouldn't finish until the first stars came out. She was going off-planet this night. She didn't know how or by what means, but she knew these were her last hours on the Smuggler's Moon. _HK-47 will be here soon…_the thought drifted idly in and out her consciousness, and_ the only thing now left to do is prepare for a very long journey._

Dane sat at the makeshift workbench she had fashioned out of an old desk, her shoulders hunched, as she labored at repairing or upgrading her inventory as the sun was setting outside her window and the city prepared for night.

Her lightsaber was in pieces before her, as she polished its lens and crystals. The largest crystal, the one Kreia had named for her, she studied a moment. It had been clear when she had first found it in that kinrath cave on Dantooine. Disciple had said he could feel that it belonged to her, just by holding it. Kreia had taken it not long after and whatever she did to it, the clear color was replaced by a smoky gray. _I will make it clear again, by this journey's end…_

She polished the stone and set it inside the saber behind the green crystal that gave her blade its color and marked her as a Consular Jedi. She then set the emitter into the base of her lightsaber and twisted the heavy alloy cap at the bottom to secure it. She ignited the lightsaber to test it. A perfect green blade extended from the base with a low, vibrating hum. She tested the weight and balance of it in her hand and, satisfied, contracted the blade again. Next, she painstakingly created three medpacs until her eyes burned at the effort. She didn't need them, not when the Force was so strong with her, but one never knew…

At last, she was finished. She was heavily armed with a blaster at each hip, her lightsaber at her belt and a knife or two down each boot. She wore her Jedi robes again, as it was in them she felt the most comfortable, both in mind and in body. She packed the last of her meager belongings into her bag, hefted it over her shoulder and smoothed a few stray hairs that had come lose from her ponytail. She surveyed the apartment for anything she may have forgotten. The place was empty and spartan after she had cleaned it following her rampage three days earlier. Dane made mental note to leave the landlord some extra credits to replace what she had destroyed. Satisfied, she took exactly one step towards the door when she felt a presence out in the hallway and drawing closer.

_HK…_she thought, but the presence held life to it, not just a firing off of circuits and modulators. Before she could speculate further, there came a decisive pounding on the door followed by a Wookie's unmistakable growl. _Mission, _Dane amended and she smiled at the thought of the plucky young Twi'lek coming to see her. _Perhaps she has found for me my ride off-planet. It is all just as I had anticipated._

Not quite.

Actually, what happened next was about as far from what Dane had anticipated as it could possibly get. She realized this the moment the door slid open and the Twi'lek and the Wookie came bounding into the room with none other than Atton Rand dragged between them, looking for all the world like a sheepish schoolboy being hauled to the administrator's office for throwing cherrybombs into the refreshers. The Wookie was roaring and Mission was firing angry questions at Dane, but all Dane could see or hear was Atton's impish, but warm grin and his low voice as he said, "Hey, sweets. Funny seeing you here, eh?"

Dane couldn't speak. She couldn't move, and even breathing was somewhat of a challenge. He looked beautiful, even though his hair was a mess and blood was drying under his nose and lip was split, and…_He is here? How? What the does this mean?_

"A-Atton?" she said, but before she could ask anything more, the Twi'lek was screeching.

"So you _do_ know each other?" Mission demanded of Dane. The Twi'lek planted her hands on her hips and her stern gaze went between Dane and Atton like a scolding mother. But the way in which she silently directed Zaalbar to keep a tight grip on Atton said that she meant business and the pilot was hers until further notice.

Dane tore her eyes from Atton. She was starting to collect herself and how clear-headed she became was directly proportional to how little she looked at him. "Yes, we…we know each other. What is happening?"

"That is exactly what I would like to know," Mission retorted. "I meet you and you seem like a nice person and all, and you need help, right? So I start asking around—subtle-like—if there's a pilot that'll take you off-planet. A pilot with no ties to the Exchange of course. I meet this Atton at Raji's Cantina and he says he's got a ship. But the ship turns out to be the _Ebon Hawk!_ The _Ebon Hawk_! And so I'm thinking to myself, 'What's this heel of a pilot doing with the _Hawk_?' He looks like he couldn't fly a kite in a strong wind—"

"Hey!" Atton put in with injured air.

"And then I start thinking," Mission continued, "that this may be some sort of trap, or sick joke or something, you know?"

The Twi'lek was near hysterics and Dane tried her best to smooth things over, despite the fact she had a thousand questions of her own. In a gentle voice she said, "Please, this is very confusing to me as well." Here, she shot Atton a look for she was certain he wasn't confused at all. Sure enough, he shrugged contritely and gave her that charming, lopsided grin of his. _Damn him, _she thought. _What great mess has he created now? _ "If you could just start at the beginning," she said to Mission but the Twi'lek wasn't having it.

"No, no, no, no sister," Mission interjected, shaking her head tails. "You may be a Jedi and all, but I'm asking the questions around here. And my first question is, are you the Jedi that gave this nerf-herder—" she jerked a thumb at Atton—"the _Ebon Hawk_?"

"Yes," Dane said.

"And where—and this question is the kicker, you know?—where did you get it?"

Dane furrowed her brow, trying to think how best to explain it. "I don't know," she said truthfully. "Seven months ago I awoke in the sickbay of a mining facility on Peragus. I learned that we had crash-landed on the planet in the _Hawk_, though at the time I didn't remember how or why I came to be on board. Atton and I and another woman escaped Peragus on that ship and it has been mine ever since. Until…" Her eyes met Atton's and her words faded.

"Until she gave it to me," Atton finished. He held her gaze with those gray-green eyes of his until she looked away, her cheeks coloring.

"I understand," Dane continued to Mission, "that the _Ebon Hawk_ once belonged to Revan. If that is what is bothering you, that this pilot has offered his services with the ship that once carried Revan and her crew, then I can see why you may be upset. It would be surprising to anyone to be connected to a ship with such a record, but there is nothing—"

"Surprising?" Mission thundered. "Doesn't anyone read history? Sheesh! Of course I know the _Hawk_ belonged to Revan_. I was a part of her crew!_ Me and Big Z over here were _with Revan as she hunted for the Star Maps! _I know the _Hawk_ probably better than you do!"

Dane and Atton were twin studies in shock and awe. _This girl was a part of Revan's crew? What does this mean? There must be a purpose to meeting her, _Dane thought, while Atton whistled through his teeth, for the implications did not escape him either.

"So what happened was," Mission continued, still very much worked up, "is that this flyboy shows me Revan's ship and then starts telling me about a blond-haired, blue-eyed Jedi, you know? I mean, hellooo? You and Revan aren't exactly twins but what was I to think?"

"Excuse me," Atton put in, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of Zaalbar's enormous paw on his shoulder. "Maybe I'm just the slow-learning pilot who couldn't fly a kite in a strong wind," he said dryly, "but what are you talking about?"

"Revan has blue eyes and blond hair as well," Dane explained to him. To Mission she said, "I understand. Atton spoke of me but you thought he spoke of Revan. And given that the ship he presented to you was the _Ebon Hawk_, it was natural to assume he had worked for her."

"Yessss," Mission said with a sigh of relief. Dane could see the girl was calming down. "I mean, I'm sorry I got so upset, but it didn't really sink in until we were coming over here…" The Twi'lek's eyes filled with tears that she brushed away impatiently. "It's just a lot of memories, you know?"

"I can only imagine," Dane conceded. She had known, of course, of Revan's exploits in searching the galaxy for a map to find the Sith's source of power, and she had known it was the _Hawk_ that took Revan where she needed to go. She _hadn't_ known that this young Twi'lek had been a part of the crew and, having served under Revan during the war, Dane knew that the effects of being in that woman's presence were not something one shook off easily, light side or no. She took a step toward Mission, intending to comfort the girl when the door to the apartment slid open and HK-47 clanked into the room.

The calm that was just started to find roots was torn up again at the arrival of the droid. Zaalbar howled and raised his bowcaster at HK, releasing Atton with a thud. Dane, seeing the danger, was about to throw a stasis-field when blaster shots hissed out in the small quarters as HK-47, perceiving Zaalbar to be a threat, opened fire without hesitation. Somehow he missed which was fortunate, as Dane's stasis field wouldn't have worked on the droid anyway. Mission screamed and drew her vibroblade. Zaalbar raised his bowcaster but his shot glanced off HK-47's double-plated armor.   
"HK, stop!" Dane ordered, as it was clear the droid did not intend to miss his mark again. She threw herself between the droid and Mission. "Mission, put the blade down." The Twi'lek was crying openly but she held her vibroblade determinedly in both hands.

"What is he doing here?" she demanded. "He's evil and he shot at Big Z! I never trusted him! Never!"

"Irritated Query: Are you that same brat of a Twi'lek my old master dragged all over the known universe?" HK-47 posed "I am still shaking sand out of my modulators from that ill-conceived _second_ foray to Tatooine to find that worthless meatbag you call a brother."

"You bastard!" Mission cried. She turned to Dane. "Just what is going on here? He's an assassin droid!" Her face went pale as a new thought occurred to her. "Are…are you a d-dark Jedi?"

Dane was thoroughly confused, as must have been Atton, for the pilot was standing clear, watching the scene with a bewildered expression on his face. Dane had to get a grip on the situation before it grew worse.

"No, I'm not a dark Jedi. Now put down your blade before someone else gets hurt. Do it," she ordered. Mission, with shaking hands, lowered her vibroblade. Dane looked over her shoulder at the droid. "HK-47, shut up and stand down. You will not fire another shot unless I give the command, you got me?"

"Condescending Submission: Yes, master. As you wish it." He trudged into the corner of the darkening apartment, his green eyes glittering like a cat's. Mission scowled at him tearfully. She looked as if she had just seen a ghost—or several ghosts. She trembled but managed to get her emotions under control and a measure of peace was restored.

"Of course, if you were a part of Revan's crew, then you would recall her droid," Dane sighed, connecting HK-47 and the Twi'lek's reaction to him.

"_Assassination _droid," Mission corrected. "I never trusted HK, not for a minute."

"Sardonic Statement: That crushes me to the bowels of my processors. And here I thought this to be a happy reunion."

"Be silent, HK," Dane said. She turned to Mission. "I'm sorry for the shock you must be experiencing." She glanced Atton out of the corner of her eye. _You and me both. _ "But I feel there is a reason events played out as they did. It was no accident that you found me, Mission, but it was the Force working to draw us together."

"Tell me everything. I deserve to know," Mission said, crossing her arms over her chest, her eyes going between Dane, Atton and HK-47. She stood near the door, with Zaalbar behind her, ready to bolt if need be.

Dane nodded. "Yes, you do." And so Dane, with Atton adding bits and pieces here and there, told Mission and Zaalbar a brief summary of everything that had happened over the last seven months. By the time their story had ended, Mission was no longer standing at the door, but sitting across from Dane in the apartment's living area. Zaalbar, however, stood behind her, his eyes on HK-47.

"I can't believe you were here and I didn't know it," Mission said. "I mean, I guess there's no real reason why I should—Nar Shaddaa's a big place. I just thought I'd _feel_ something, you know?"

Dane smiled. "Perhaps you weren't meant to be involved with what we were doing, until now, that is."

"You're going after Revan, aren't you?" Mission asked.

"Yes, I am. And until this night, I had thought I was to travel alone." Dane noticed Atton—who had been sitting on the windowsill, apart from the others—shoot a glance her way. "And I will be alone," she said firmly and very much for his benefit, "when I confront her. But I see now that I would have failed if I had merely shot out into space, heading for the Unknown Regions, without first arming myself with as much information as I can get. I knew this, somehow, and that is why I took HK-47 with me; to glean information about Revan from him. But I never asked him a single thing."

"Mournful Observation: Yes, master has neglected me most keenly these last weeks," HK said with obvious sarcasm.

Dane ignored him. "I left my own crew—"  
"Jettisoned us like old cargo is more like," Atton muttered. His initial joy at seeing Dane again was tempered by the pain she had caused him upon leaving. _Why is she wasting time talking to that Twi'lek and I get not so much as a 'Hello, Atton, nice to see you.'? You'd think one little kiss wouldn't be so much to ask… _He knew he was being foolish but he couldn't help it and so he sulked by the window.

"I left my own crew," Dane continued without looking at Atton, "because I sensed their duties had ended. But now, perhaps it is time to take on a new crew."

Mission's eyes widened. "You want me and Big Z to go with you to find Revan? What for? I mean, why are you looking for her? When she left…" Mission heaved a gusty sigh. "When she left, it was without a word to anyone. I don't even think she told Carth where she was going or why and they seemed like they were so happy. She just up and took off one day and no one has heard from her since."

_Poor bastard, I know how he feels, _Atton thought but wisely did not say aloud.

Dane briefly explained to Mission about Kreia and the old woman's final words to her. "There is another war on the horizon and Revan went to fight it, or join it, Mission. A war against the Sith that will rival everything that has come before. I need to find Revan and stop her if she has fallen to the dark side, or align with her to fight if she has not. But I can't do it, unarmed, as I said, without information."

Mission nodded. "If you're asking me if Revan fell to the dark side again, I don't know."

"But you know who does."

Mission nodded again. "The Jedis would know better than me, if they know anything at all. Like I said, she just took off one day."

"Who are the Jedis?"  
"Bastila, Juhani and Jolee. But they vanished after the Civil War along with every other Jedi," Mission added hurriedly.

Bastila…There was a name Dane recognized. Bastila of the famed Battle Meditation. Dane remembered learning about that Jedi's talents and feeling angry that no other Jedi, years earlier during the Mandalorian Wars, had stepped forward and provided similar power. _It would have turned the tide so much quicker; so many lives would have been spared. _Of course, it was possible no Jedi _had_ such a power—Bastila herself would have been in her early teens—but still. The name Bastila never failed to conjure bitterness in the Exile. Dane shoved the ruminations aside and concentrated on the situation at hand.

Something in Mission's demeanor told Dane she wasn't saying everything. _She knows where those Jedi are, or at least has a guess. _Dane let it pass, for now, for she still needed the Twi'lek's help and it was clear Mission didn't fully trust her yet.

"And what about Carth? You said he was an Admiral for the Republic?"

"Yes, but…"the Twi'lek hesitated, "I don't think Carth knows anything more than we do. And I really wouldn't want to go and dig up painful memories for him, you know?"

Dane smiled gently. "I know, but my purpose for seeing him would be twofold. Yes, I would like information on Revan, but also, if he is a Republic Admiral, then I can think of no one better to warn against the impending war. I doubt there will be many Republic who will believe me, with no proof and no influence, that what I say is true, but Carth might. I need to see him, Mission, so that the Republic, when the war comes, will not be unprepared."

There was a pause as the Twi'lek thought this over. Finally she said, "So you want me to drag you around the galaxy, hunting for Revan's old crew?"

"In a matter of speaking, yes. It was meant to be," Dane said. "Don't you see? There is no way I could simply waltz into a Republic Admiral's office and demand an audience with him, but you could. And if the Jedis are in hiding, a perfect stranger such as myself would not lure them out, but you could. I need your help, Mission. You are my key to opening so many locked doors."

Mission chewed her lip. "What about my refuge? I can't just leave it, you know? Those kids need me."

Dane felt in the girl real concern for her refuge, but there was also a glint of excitement in the Twi'lek's eyes. "Haven't you a second that could take over in your absence? Someone you trust?" Dane pressed gently.

Mission narrowed her eyes. "Yes," she said slowly, and then she leaned forward swiftly. "But listen, I was just a kid on the last quest, and so maybe I got treated like one, you know? But I'm not a kid anymore and I don't want anyone to forget it."

Dane was tempted to smile, but the look on Mission's face was deadly serious. "Mission, this 'quest' won't happen without you. No one, least of all me, is going to forget that."

Mission's smile grew until it was nearly ear-to-ear. "What do you say, Zaalbar?" she consulted the Wookie behind her.

Zaalbar grumbled something to the effect that he was not terribly happy about being in HK-47's company.

"I know, but we suffered him once…we can do it again, right?" Mission urged.

Zaalbar grunted noncommittally, and Mission turned to Dane with barely contained excitement written all over her features. "All right," she said. "We're in." She stuck out her hand and Dane shook it. The Twi'lek popped out of her chair in a distinctly youthful manner. "I have arrangements to make. I can't just take off, you know? How much time do I have?"

"I had thought about leaving tonight," Dane said, remembering the feeling she had had earlier. "But of course, if you need time…Is tomorrow night too soon?"  
"Nah," Mission said. "My second is great. I'll just settle things with her and then I'll be back."

Dane walked with Mission and Zaalbar to the door. "Thank you both," she said quietly. "I know it is much to ask…"

Mission suddenly threw her arms around Dane. "We're going to go find my old friends," she said, releasing the woman from her embrace. "That isn't too much to ask at all." Then Mission and Zaalbar were gone, and Dane was alone with Atton.

Nearly alone.

HK-47 stepped forward as soon as the door had slid shut.

"Irritated observation: Master, I fail to see the usefulness of bringing those two with us. My memory core is completely intact, my processors undamaged. If you had only asked me where I thought the insufferable meatbag crew of my first master had gone to, you need only ask."

"Perhaps," said Dane, feeling Atton's eyes on her. "But if the reaction of Revan's crew to you is anything like Mission and Zaalbar's, you will be more of a liability to me than a help. I need her," she said to both the droid and Atton, "to smooth the path between myself and those she traveled with."

Atton shrugged and said in a voice that Dane didn't like, "Hey, do what you have to do. So you dump one crew and immediately take another. As long as it fits with Kreia's plan—remember Kreia? The _Sith?—_So long as it works for her, then do it, I say."

"Atton—"

"Just one question, Dane," Atton said, moving to stand in front of her. "I'd like to know what ship you're going to fly and who's going to fly it."

Dane was momentarily struck dumb—by his question and by the fact that he was standing mere inches from her and she could feel his warm breath on her face. _There is no emotion…_She tried to recall the Code, but couldn't get any further. Atton was staring her down, pain and anger in his eyes.

"I-I don't know," she said lamely. _This wasn't supposed to happen! He's not in my plans! I don't_

_know what to do. _It had been a long time since she had not known what to do and it made her angry and flustered

"Need some air," she muttered and pushed past Atton and left the apartment.

Atton stared after her, feeling like an ass. He hadn't meant to say such things to her, not when deep down he was so happy to see her. But the hurt he had felt at her leaving—how easily she did it—was still fresh. A voice spoke up in his mind that clearly it had not been easy for her, but Atton brushed it aside. A second, louder thought reminded him that Dane had left the apartment with all of her belongings slung over her shoulder and if he didn't catch her, she just might disappear.

"Oh, no she won't," he declared and stormed out of the apartment leaving HK-47 alone.

"Amused Statement: Meatbags cause more difficulties for themselves than every other source combined."

If droids could sigh, HK-47 would have for he had fulfilled Dane's orders exceedingly well—gathering information about local Exchange members—but he had no one to give the data too. He pulled out the datapad he had been using to record his findings and began uploading his latest.

It was too bad Dane had been so caught up in the scene with Mission and then with Atton, for she had she read the fruit of HK's labors, she may have saved herself from an abundance of pain and fear in the days and weeks to come.

HK-47 likened his information to newscasts and he was rather proud of the objectivity he infused into his work. His last entry read: Since the massacre of dozens of prominent Exchange members in the Jekk-Jekk Tar Cantina less than a year ago by an unidentified Jedi, (and the demise of a principal boss, the Quarren Visquis by same) the Exchange has been rebuilding slowly but not without obstacles. The fractured syndicate has come together recently, however, due to the emergence of Raff O'Bannon as a primary figurehead and unifying influence. He is ruthless, sadistic, and considered one of the most dangerous crime bosses the Exchange has seen in years. O'Bannon has risen to power quickly and is rumored to be the newest archrival of noted crime boss, Goto. He is, like Goto, rarely seen, but has an extended network of confederates and lesser bosses to do the heavy lifting for him. Notable of these is an ex-Mandalorian named Garn Goransh, a Duros named Huvra whose apparent specialization is torture, and a hutt named Dibbuk who is a chief source of income to O'Bannon by means of swoop racing, spice dealing, and slave trading…


	9. Confrontation

Thanks to all that review, I appreciate it.

Aside: It says "romance" in the description so don't say I didn't warn you…

Confrontation…

Atton could just see Dane's slim figure as she hurried along the street. The night had come and there were few people out at this hour; she was easy to keep in sight. As he ran, his nose began bleeding again. He had forgotten his injuries courtesy of the Twi'lek, and he paused a moment to use the Force to heal himself. When he looked up again, Dane was out of sight and he panicked. But a flash of white-blond hair caught his eye and he tracked her again.

He caught up with her quickly and though she must have known he was there behind her, she did not turn or slow her step.

"Hey, will you wait a minute?" Atton pressed. He was in stride with her now but she was walking quickly. She did not look at him. "Hey, hold on. Will you just stop and talk to me?" When she didn't answer he took hold of her wrist and spun her around to face him. "Dane, stop."

She twisted her arm from his hold. "Leave me alone, Atton," she said, her voice tight. "I need to think." And she started walking again.

"You need to think, do you?" he called after. "Think about what? How you can get rid of me and still keep the _Hawk._ Quite a dilemma you have there, I must say."

Dane spun around at this. "Why are you being so rude to me? Why…" She pressed her lips tightly together, and Atton could see in the fluorescent lights from a hundred thousand different sources, that she was struggling to keep to the Code.

_Damn that Code, _Atton thought. He hoped she would break out of whatever was keeping her emotions in check and rage at him. _At least then I would have an idea of what she thinks of me._

Instead, Dane said in a strained, yet calm manner, "Where are your robes?"

Atton blinked. He wasn't expecting that. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he didn't feel right in them without her to guide him, but he decided that was too charitable a statement right then. Instead, he snorted and said, "I use them to polish my boots."

Dane's eyes widened and she looked as though he had just slapped her. Atton thought he might have gone too far but he welcomed an angry retort. Instead she cocked her head at him, as though studying him. "You're trying to goad me into an argument; it won't work," she said and began walking again.

"I'm not trying to 'goad' anything," Atton said, quickly stepping beside her again. "I'm just trying to figure out what's going on. Where do I stand in all this? Do you need me or not?"

"I-I…no," Dane stammered. "It's not supposed to be like this. I can't take you with me. I can't."

"No? But you can take some strange Twi'lek and her overgrown carpet along with you, is that it?"

Dane stopped and spun to face him. The cracks in her armor where apparent and the argument she promised he wouldn't get was on the way. "What do you want, Atton? Why are you here? Did you come looking for me? Why? I remember saying we each had to go our own way. I had to leave—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on a second, sweets," Atton said. "Why am I here? No, no, why are _you_ here? This is Nar Shaddaa. This place belongs more to me than to you. Of all the moons in all the systems, you chose to come to this one and here you stayed for _four weeks._"

The armor was falling off piece by piece. Dane's eyes were filling with tears. "Stop it! I couldn't find…," her words trailed to mumbling, and she stalked away again, but Atton kept pace with her, relentless in his words.

"Couldn't find a ride off-planet, you say? On _Nar Shaddaa?_ You can't fire a blaster within ten paces without hitting someone who's got a junkheap that'll take you at least one planet closer to wherever the hell it is you want to go."

"Atton—"  
"No, I think you need to be honest, babe. I didn't come looking for you. I went to a cantina to drown my sorrows and heard your name. I think you were waiting for me. If not, then the Force that you say brought Mission to you also brought us together. Or is me finding you just some coincidence you can brush off? Which is it, Dane? I'd like to know where I stand…cosmically speaking."

"Atton stop," Dane said. She ceased walking and slumped, burying her face in her hands. She had no armor left.

Atton's heart ached at the pain he was causing but he couldn't help it. Some dark part of him needed her to hurt as badly as he did. _I made it so easy for her to walk away the first time. I won't make that mistake again. _ But the image of the strong Jedi Master standing in the street and sobbing into her hands softened him. He took a deep breath and got his own anger under control. In a gentler voice he said, "If you want me to go, I'll go, but I have to know one thing. You owe it to me."

Dane lifted her tear-stained face. She looked so beautiful, he wanted to take her in his arms right then and there, but he couldn't muster the courage.

"What do you want to know?" she asked in a small voice.

"I…"Atton cleared his throat which had suddenly tightened up. _Be a man and just ask her if she's as crazy in love with you as you are with her, _spoke a voice in his mind. "I want to know---_need _to know—if you…Dammit, Dane just tell me, will you? Do you care for me at all? If you don't, I'll walk away and spare you ever seeing my ugly mug again. I promise."

Dane's face threatened to crumple into tears again, but she kept herself in check. "It does not matter," she said in a defeated voice. "The Code—"

Atton flinched as if she'd struck him. "The Code…?" _Well, what did you expect? She's a Jedi… _But that wasn't good enough for Atton. _Not after everything we've been through…not after I told her, and only her, what I had done during the war. _

"That's it? That's what you have to say to me?" he thundered at her. "I spill my guts out in your lap and all you can say is 'the Code'?" Atton stammered for a minute, and then his heart went cold. He had his pride and it would only be stretched so far. "Forget it. Forget I ever mentioned it," he said and started walking away. "See you around, sweets. Good luck in whatever it is you're going to do." _No matter if she says anything, just keep walking. Don't bend. You don't need her. Just keep walking. You're better off…_

"Atton," she called after in a small voice.

He immediately stopped and turned around. _So much for pride…_

She walked slowly toward him, wiping her eyes as she did.

"Yeah?" he replied hesitantly.

"I did not get to finish my answer," she said. Her lower lip was trembling, he noticed, but she managed to keep herself under control. "You asked me if I had feelings for you and my answer is yes. Ever since we met, my every other thought has been of you."

Atton's heart was pounding in his chest and time seemed to slow as he listened to her words. _There is hope…_

…Dane took a deep breath before continuing. It was difficult to look at him for she wanted nothing more than to fly into his arms and forget everything. But she could not. She could not allow him to weaken her resolve. _It is to save him. I cannot doom him to death for my own selfish reasons…_

"The Code is the only thing I have," she continued. "There are only a handful of Jedi left, and perhaps no masters beside myself. If I do not adhere to the Code, it will weaken and die, or become diluted and that must not happen. When the Jedi rise again—and they must rise again to fight the true Sith in the conflict that is to come—then they will be strong and honest and true for the Code will be alive in their hearts as it is in mine. Do you see?"

Atton's said nothing for a minute and then said into the silence, "I think the Code can be as strong as you want it to be." He sighed and seemed to come to some sort of a decision that involved dropping his sharp-tongued façade for his next words took her breath away with their sincerity. He took her hands in his own and said, "Oh, to hell with it. Dane, I love you. I'm so bloody in love with you I can't even see straight. But I don't think that is a bad thing if you happen to feel the same about me. I don't think it makes either of us any less of a Jedi. I'm not going to believe it is wrong to love…no, don't cry…" He stroked her hair and so Dane cried harder.

When he had told her he loved her, her heart had dropped to her feet and her resolve was blown away like leaves in a strong wind. _Damn him, _she thought._ How did this happen? _

"Listen, I know I'm no real Jedi, not like Disciple anyway. And I have no good advice to give like Bao-Dur did…I'm just a pilot who can play a mean game of Pazaak. I'm a scoundrel, a murderer…"

"No, no, it's not true," Dane cried, her tears flowing again. His words struck her like knives. "Atton you are so much more than that. I have seen you, the true you, and you are no murderer. You have so much to offer—"

"Then here I am Dane," Atton cut in, his voice hoarse. "Whatever I have, whatever I am—I'm offering it to you."

And with those words, she was his.

Dane slumped against him, crying into his chest and clutching at his shirt. "I can't…I can't fight anymore. I love you…" she sobbed. She felt his arms go around her and he held her tight. "I do. I love you, Atton."

"I'm real glad of that, babe," he said with a half laugh, half sigh of relief.

They stood for long moments that way until Dane sobs subsided, and she smiled up at him ruefully.

"Some strong Jedi, huh?" she said and then her smile trembled as she met his eyes. "I don't want to feel sorry for myself. But I also don't want to be alone anymore, Atton, okay?"

He smiled down at her. "Not a chance, sweets. Never again."

Dane closed her eyes as relief washed over her to mingle with the warmth of the love she had for him. A small voice in the back of her mind warned her that she was not protecting him by giving in to her feelings for him, but she shoved it away. _I will handle it when the time comes, _she vowed, _and nothing will harm this man so long as I breathe._ Her thoughts were interrupted and swept away as he bent down and kissed her.

. A wave of pleasure coiled in her stomach at his touch. His lips were soft and his hands gentle as they cupped her face, his thumbs stroking the skin of her cheeks. Her own arms went around him and she entangled her fingers in the soft, silken hair at the back of his neck. Their kiss grew more passionate until they were both breathless. He pressed his body to hers and she went dizzy with longing.

Now that she was kissing him after so long of only dreaming about it, the last thing Dane wanted to do was stop, but as his hands roamed her body, she grew increasingly aware that they were in a public place, even as she luxuriated at his touch. "Atton," she breathed, "not here."

With effort, he broke their kiss, and caught his own breath. He smiled that lopsided grin of his and said, "Look where 'here' is."

At that moment, with Atton's arms around her and the lingering feel of his kiss still on her lips, Dane wasn't entirely certain what planet she was on. But a cursory glance around revealed that she had, unknowingly, walked straight to the docking bay on which was parked the _Ebon Hawk. _ The ship was no less than fifty yards away.

Dane laughed. "Of course," she said. "It's the perfect end to a day like today."

Atton smoothed the tendril of white-blond hair that had come loose in their embrace and kissed her gently. "The day isn't over yet," he said quietly, "and I can think of a much more perfect end."

Dane nodded, returning his kiss with a deep one of her own. "So can I."


	10. Benefits of not letting your guard down

Chapter 10

Dane awoke in the early morning hours in the port dormitory of the _Ebon Hawk. _She was amazed at how much she had missed the old ship—after four weeks, coming back to it felt like home in a way. It had been good to see T3 again as well. The little droid had beeped and whooped in happiness at seeing her, though the reunion was short-lived—she had been slightly preoccupied with maneuvering Atton out his clothes and being maneuvered herself—by his deft hands—out of her own. Dane smiled at the memory and lifted her head from the crook of his arm to look at him.

He slept deeply with his mouth slightly ajar and one arm—the one not holding her—thrown over his head. _Even in sleep, he can't keep his mouth shut, _Dane thought fondly, and she leaned forward and kissed him. She sighed contentedly. Her body still hummed with pleasure from the night's festivities and she was, really and truly, happy.

Atton stirred and opened his eyes. The smile that came instantly to his face when he saw her was worth a thousand "I love you's…"

…When Atton awoke to see Dane smiling at him, her hair hanging loose from its ponytail to frame her jaw and she wearing only the bed sheet, he thought to himself, _Life…is good. _Aloud, he said, "'Morning, sweets," and kissed her.

"Good morning," she returned.

There was a thick moment when the realization of everything that had happened the night before—everything they had said, and everything they had _done_—was right there between them and they both laughed, chagrined. .

"You're not…sorry, are you?" Atton asked.

"Ssshh," Dane admonished. "Of course not."

"Good," he said and leaned back. "I suppose you're going to want to be up and moving and getting on with our mission," he said around a yawn. "Always rushing, you Jedi."

Dane gave him a knowing smile. "Well, yes and no. I want us to get moving but we don't have to leave the _Hawk _just yet."

Atton smiled and pulled her close. "I was hoping you would say that."

"Do you have to always wear your hair in that ponytail?" Atton asked with a laugh several hours later and they donned their clothes.

Dane raised and eyebrow as she tied her hair up. "I can't have it in my way," she said. "Why? You think I look better with it down?"

"Yes. It looks like a little poofball stuck to the back of your head," Atton remarked, and patted the aforementioned 'poofball' until she swatted his hand away.

Dane laughed and smoothed her hair into place. "Well, you'll just have to put up with it," she said.

"Until bedtime," he murmured and came up behind her, his arms around her and his lips on her neck. "Then it comes down… for me."

"Yes," Dane said lazily, leaning back against him. He hadn't yet put his shirt back on, which she found to be incredibly distracting. But a growl in her stomach killed the moment quite nicely and she was glad her back was to him so he couldn't see her mortified expression. "I haven't had much to eat lately." That was the truth. Not since her rampage around the apartment could she remember eating more than a few bites here and there.

"Well, let's go get something to eat!" Atton exclaimed, finally pulling a shirt on over his head and tucking it into his trousers. "After last night, I sure could use some refueling."

"Don't be crass," Dane remarked. He was beaming like an idiot and she could only shake her head at him.

"Sorry babe," he said, taking her in his arms. "I love you," he said. She knew he meant it but the distinctly triumphant manner in which he was smiling down at her grated her nerves a little.

"You'd better," she replied, and couldn't think of anything smart to add in return. She never had a gift for being clever and witty, and sharp remarks didn't come easily to her. Atton must have read something in her expression for he immediately dropped his lopsided grin and looked at her intently.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I'm a pig, I know," he said. "But really, last night was…well," he ran a hand through his hair and finally shrugged. "I just…you know what I mean, right?"

Dane had to laugh. She knew. He was a lot of talk and swagger and she was fairly certain he had bedded more than his share of women in the past, but she knew she was probably the only one who saw him drop his façade. She smiled to herself as they left the _Hawk _and decided she might wear her hair down for him a little more often.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

They stepped out into the bright, morning sunshine, walking arm in arm towards a restaurant Atton recommended a few blocks from the docking bay.

"No one makes better nerf-and-pikka eggs than Chuba's," Atton had assured her.

Dane could only smile up at him and nod, the sunshine warm on her face and her arm tucked tightly into his. Mission wasn't due to meet them at the apartment until later that evening; Dane had the whole day—or what was left of it after they had dragged themselves out of bed—to spend at leisure with him. She couldn't remember being happier.

The Jedi Code forbids any of their order to take a mate. Of all of the Code's edicts, none was more fiercely debated—nor broken as often—as that one. The happiness of love, it could be said, while pleasurable, can distract. By no means should it be construed that what happened next was a punishment to Dane and Atton for breaking the Code, but is likely the kind of thing that inspired the writers of the Code to include that particular edict in the first place…

A man stepped round the corner, his head bent down intently over the map he held, and crashed right into Dane and Atton, breaking them apart. "I'm sorry," the man muttered, looking up from his map. "I am very lost," he said. "Would you tell me where Chimera Street is?" He leaned close to Atton, holding the map before the pilot's face.

"Sure," Atton began and then saw a flurry of movement in his peripheral vision. It took him a moment to realize the stranger had, while bent over the map with Atton, struck out with his elbow, catching Dane at the temple. The blow must have caught her completely by surprise for she crumpled to the ground, striking her head on the hard pavement with a sickening thud. Her eyes fluttered once and then she was still.

"What?" Atton choked but before he could move the man's fist caught him full in the throat. He went down in a haze of pain, choking and coughing. Four other men rounded the corner, all dressed in similar dark garb with an orange flame-shaped insignia stitched onto their sleeves, and surrounded them. Atton, struggling for breath, reached out his hand to Dane beside him. The first man laid his blaster against Atton's temple and brought his boot down on his outstretched hand.

"Don't move," the man said in a voice completely devoid of emotion.

"Let her go," Atton said, his voice hardly a whisper. But the man brought sound from Atton's bruised throat by twisting his boot; the bones in Atton's hands cracked and broke and then he screamed.

_What is happening? _he thought, his mind swimming in sudden fear and pain. He watched in horror as one of the men in black lifted Dane's still body and began carrying her away. His similarly dressed brethren followed him and they rounded the corner, out of sight.

"Dane!" he screamed. "Dane, no! NO!" But the men were gone. He craned his neck frantically to the man who held the blaster to his head and his broken hand under his boot. "Take me instead," he pleaded. "Please, don't—don't hurt her. Take me. DANE!" But the man's face was as implacable as stone.

The man holstered his blaster. "Hey," he said to Atton, who was still screaming after the four men—now long out of sight. "Hey," the man repeated in that same dead voice. He pressed his boot harder onto Atton's ruined hand to get his attention. "She killed Dibbuk. My boss wants to talk to her about that. Don't follow."

And like that, he was gone.

Atton instantly struggled to his feet, clutching his right hand to his stomach. He ambled around the corner, but there was no sign of their attackers. No men in black, no stony-faced man with the map--nothing but Nar Shaddaa's typical mid-morning crowd.

"Dane," Atton muttered. His hand was a mangled mass of torture and he was pretty sure he didn't want to look at it. But he couldn't worry about that now. _I should have protected her. I should have…_ Atton, staggering and nearly nauseous with pain, plunged into the streets, asking over and over to anyone he passed if they had seen the four men in black. No one had. They had simply vanished and they had taken Dane with them.

Hours passed and Atton had to stop. The screaming agony of his hand had drained his strength, as the horror of losing Dane drained his will. He staggered back to the apartment she had rented and collapsed as soon as the door slid open. HK-47 hauled him inside and stood over him for a moment.

"Irritated Statement: There is a reason why sophisticated protocol droids such as myself are hired to protect: because you meatbags are far from up to the task. Wake up, meatbag," HK-47 ordered, tapping his cold metallic fingers against Atton's cheek. "Wake up and tell me who I have to kill to bring my master back."

_pikka bird. Borrowed from another book that I have no stake in ownership. Here's hoping the estate of Douglas Adams will appreciate the reference and not sue me into oblivion._


	11. Detour

Chapter 11

Detour…

"Are you sure you want me to do this?" Mission asked, her voice a shaky whisper. "C-can't you just use the Force?"

She was sitting at the table in Dane's apartment. Night was descending outside and inside Atton sat across from her, his wrecked hand laid out on the table between them. The pilot looked ghastly. His face was an ashen gray and beads of sweat stood out on his brow and upper lip. His eyes were dark and shadowed and Mission was almost a little afraid of him.

An hour earlier, the Twi'lek and Zaalbar had returned to the apartment in high spirits. Mission had confidently turned her refuge over to her most trusted friend and the excitement of what she was about to embark on set in. She was horrified, then, to see Atton stretched out on the floor, his right hand crushed and HK-47 bent over him. Zaalbar roared and Mission instantly drew her vibroblade again.

"Get away from him!" she had cried at the droid. "You just can't stop, can you?"

In an uncharacteristic show of restraint, HK-47had backed away from the pilot, his arms outstretched. "Irritated Statement: Before your primitive mind 'jumps to any conclusions' as you meatbags are fond of saying, know that I had nothing to do with this one's injuries."

"I'm sure you didn't," Mission retorted with sarcasm. She had glanced around the room frantically, keeping her sword up and at the ready. "Where's Dane?"

"Answer: I do not know. It appears the pilot meatbag has lost Master in the space of twenty-four standard hours since finding her. And while I am not surprised, that is an impressive twenty-three more standard hours than I had calculated."

Mission slowly lowered her blade. "What happened?"

"Answer: Again, I do not know. My astronomically sophisticated processing systems have deduced that something terrible has happened to Master but we cannot be certain until the meatbag regains consciousness."

"He wouldn't have hurt Dane, would he?" Mission had asked with a glance at Atton. She hardly knew the pilot or the Jedi, and while she assumed the two of them were friends of some sort, their exact relationship wasn't clear.

"Exasperated Answer: I doubt it. Unlike you, I have had the rare privilege of watching this meatbag pine longingly after Master for the last few months. Quite nauseating I can assure you, and I don't even have a stomach."

Mission's heart had gone out to Atton, despite the little pang of disappointment she had felt for herself…_Too bad. He's really cute. _Aloud she had said, "Stop calling him a meatbag," and knelt beside Atton. After speaking a few soft words to him, she had been able to wake him. She was almost sorry she had.

The agony of his hand took hold of him the same moment consciousness did and he was violently ill. For a minute he looked as though he would sink back into sleep, but instead he frantically struggled to the door, swearing profusely enough to make even a Gamorrean blush. Zaalbar had restrained him and after much argument—and even more swearing—Mission was able to discover that Dane had been kidnapped by a group of men in black. The Twi'lek had been horrified at the thought and she had the urge to immediately hit the streets to find her, but first things first. Atton's hand needed attention and so she had convinced him to sit down and calm himself.

"Atton, we have to do something about your hand," she had said quietly.

"I don't give a damn about my hand," he had retorted. His voice was unusually hoarse and Mission saw a deep bruise at his throat. "We have to find her. We—" Atton's words trailed in frustration and he had punctuated his thoughts by kicking over a chair.

Zaalbar had growled that he was doing Dane no good with such an injury. Pain clouded the mind and he needed to think clearly. They needed him to be able to tell them exactly what happened, down to the last detail so that they had at least an inkling of where to begin looking for her.

Atton had grudgingly agreed to the logic of it and so now he slumped into the chair at the table with laid his hand out on it like a sacrificial offering.

"You'll have to reset the bones first," he rasped. "I can't heal it with the Force, not completely—I don't have the skill."

Misson's stomach lurched at the prospect and lurched again when she looked at his hand. She had treated injuries at the refuge before—she had even reset a bone or two in her day when the kids got a little rough in their play. But she had never seen anything like this. _I don't know where to begin! _

Atton's hand was swollen beyond reason. His third and fourth fingers were a rainbow of blues, greens, and reds, and both were bent or twisted at sickening angles. Where his knuckles should have been, there was only bloated tissue. His index finger—by far the worst—was dislocated and hanging apart from the others like a mutineer ready to jump ship. Mission hesitated. _I can't do this, _she thought. But one look at Atton's face, twisted in pain and worry, and Mission got a grip on herself. She took a steadying breath.

"Okay," she said. "Here we go." She dug around into the bag she had packed for the journey and pulled out a medpac. She jabbed its needle into Atton's upper arm and then, after a second thought, grabbed a second medpac and did it again.

"You may want to, um, bite down on something," Mission said meekly. "This is going to hurt." _Understatement of the year, _she thought with a pang of sympathy.

"Just do it," Atton said harshly, but the Twi'lek could see a glint of fear in his shadowed eyes.

"Right," Mission said. "Zaalbar, would you, um, stand behind Atton, and…uh, _support _him?"

Atton's face grew even more pale as the Wookie came behind him and laid one paw on his shoulder and the other on this right arm. Mission, after making sure Atton was secure in Zaalbar's grip, gingerly took the mangled hand in her own and set to work.

It was hard going for awhile, what with Atton's screams tearing the air, but after he passed out Mission was able to work more steadily. She reset most of the bones, or at least she thought they were reset—the swollen tissue made it difficult to tell. But at least his fingers resembled fingers again and they were all in the right place. _More or less, _Mission thought.

She had Zaalbar carry Atton to the next room and laid him out on the bed. She brushed a lock of stray hair that had fallen across the pilot's eyes.

"Rest now," she told his sleeping form. "We'll find Dane when you've had some rest." But as much as she was willing to try to find the Jedi, the Twi'lek had her doubts. Nar Shaddaa's underworld was a maze of hidden bases, hideouts, and secret lairs—the chances of finding Dane were slim indeed. She looked down at Atton again and smiled. "But then you found her before, didn't you? Let's hope you can do it again."

Atton woke up with his hand lying over his chest. The swollen mass thudded with pain, keeping time to his heartbeat. He felt as though he had been run over by a bantha herd and wanted nothing more than to slip back into oblivion—away from the pain. A glimpse at the darkening sky out of the window showed night was falling and Atton felt panic grip at him. _How long have I been sleeping? _

He sat up quickly—too quickly—and had to wait until the dizziness passed. He held up his hand and examined the Twi'lek's work. He was as impressed as he could be, given the circumstances. He closed his eyes and tried to center himself as Dane had taught him. He summoned the Force—only a small trickle as he was not as adept at it as he wished—and sent it to his hand. Immediately he felt some small relief from the pain and the swelling diminished. He tried again a few moments later and the swelling abated enough for him to tug one of his black leather gloves over his hand. It was feeble protection, but he had nothing else. He flexed his hand once or twice and made a fist. The difference in it between now and few hours earlier was incredible, but he could feel weakness in it and pain. It was not healed completely and might not ever be, he thought with a pang. _If that's how it is, so be it. I'd chop it off it would bring her back._

The Force healing helped him in other ways as well, for his dizziness had passed and the dull ache in his throat abated. Without further delay he headed into the living area of the apartments.

He found the Wookie standing near the door like some kind of giant sentry, his eyes on HK-47. The droid was in its customary place, in the corner, and Mission was pacing the living area, chewing on her lower lip in thought. She stopped when she saw him.

"How are you?" she asked in a quiet voice.

Atton fought back an angry retort. _Why the hell are they just standing around? _"Fine. Thanks for the repairs," he said gruffly, holding up his black-gloved hand. "But she's still missing, so I'm going out," he said and made straight for the door.

"Atton, wait!" Mission called. "Don't be mad at us for not looking. We don't know where to begin, and I doubt you do either."

"Yeah, well, I'm not going to stay in here and make small talk while she's…while they…," he choked back his words.

Mission took a tentative step toward him. "Listen, I know we just met and all, and you don't really know me," she began. "But I've been around these neighborhoods. I've seen and heard a lot of stuff that isn't quite out in the open, you know? Tell me what you know about the men who took her. Any little detail may help. Tell us exactly what happened."

Every fiber in him wanted to race out into the night and strangle every person he came across until they told him something he could use. Telling Mission 'exactly what happened' was not high on his list of favorite things to do either, for it meant that he would have to confront his failure. _You screwed up, pal, big time. Bigger than big time, but she is right. You're going to need all the help you can get. _

"All right. Here it is," he said gruffly and told them what he remembered.

When he was finished, Mission was still biting her lip. "You said the men were wearing black. Anything else? Any marks or signs?"

Atton struggled to remember for he had been taken completely by surprise, winded, his hand crushed, and nearly driven mad with fear for Dane. "I can't…" he muttered in frustration. The more he went over the events of that morning, the angrier he became at himself.

"I can't remember, dammit! I don't know who took her or why. All I know is that one minute she was with me and the next she was gone and I didn't do a damn thing to stop it."

"Atton, you have to calm down. This isn't helping. You can't blame yourself."

"No? Then who should I blame?"

"How about the men who took her?" Mission said, planting her hands on her hips. "I know this is hard, but it is not doing Dane one teeny bit of good, you know?"

"Statement: While it naturally goes against my core programming, I can't help but agree with the blue meatbag," HK-47 remarked from his corner.

"Gee, thanks," Mission muttered and then turned back to Atton. "Go over it again. There has to be some detail that will tell us where to start."

Atton had to admit the Twi'lek was right. But whenever he tried to remember that horrible incident, his active imagination took over and his thoughts were filled with imagined horrors that Dane may be experiencing—all of which culminate in her death. Atton's stomach rolled but he forced himself to stay calm and he centered himself. Almost instantly, a spark of memory jumped at him. "Orange flames. The men in black had an insignia on their arm in the shape of orange flames," he said. "And a name! The man with the map said a name…" Atton said, excited now. "It started with a 'D.' Dabbo, or—"

"Irritated Query: Dibbuk?"

"Yes! Dibbuk!" Atton cried, then his face went dark. "How the hell did you know that?"

"Oh geez," Mission murmured, looking sick to her stomach.

"What, you've heard of this Dibbuk, too?" Atton demanded of her. "Who is he?"

"I don't know any Dibbuk, but I know what the insignia of orange flames means," Mission replied.

"What does it mean?" Atton asked, not liking the resigned and slightly frightened tinge to the Twi'lek's voice. But before Mission could reply, HK-47 stepped forward from his corner.

"Command: Say nothing, blue meatbag. It is my turn to exercise my vocabulator, for I was beginning to wonder at its functionality; it has been so long out of use. And besides, all this inane, useless chatter is making me long for a can of oil and a plasma torch so that I may put myself out of my misery. Now then.

"Statement: Dibbuk, a hutt, is the name of a lesser henchman of an Exchange crime boss called Raff O'Bannon. O'Bannon's gang is called the Inferno and their insignia is an orange flame set into a black background. The Inferno is one of the most powerful Exchange syndicates, having risen in esteem to rival even Goto in only a few short months. They are very dangerous as Raff O'Bannon apparently lacks even the tiniest shred of what you meatbags call 'morality' or 'humanity.'"

Atton thought he was going to be sick. "The man with the map," he said slowly, "said that Dane killed Dibbuk."

"Oh no," Mission whispered, and clapped her hands to her mouth in alarm.

"That's bad, isn't it?" Atton asked.

"Statement: That is very bad. Master told me to collect data on various Exchange personalities so that she would prepared when she approached them in her quest for a ship. O'Bannon and his gang were at the top of my list of exactly the kind of meatbag scum Master should avoid at all costs. But I had not returned from this data collecting expedition until you—" he said to Atton, "had already arrived, and by then, of course, she had no further need of my information. Until now. Fortunate, don't you think?"

"Fortunate? I'll show you fortunate—"

"Atton," Mission stepped in. "He doesn't mean it like that."

"Statement: Correct. I meant to express that it is fortunate I collected what data I did so that now we know into which nest of meatbags we should infiltrate…and obliterate."

"Easier said than done," Mission remarked. "Geez, Atton, of all the Exchange syndicates, O'Bannon's is the worst." She shivered and then looked at him apologetically. "I'm sorry, I'm just being honest. Our chances aren't good."

Atton began pacing the living room. "She never said anything about killing any hutt," he said after a minute. "Maybe it's a mistake. Maybe…" But Atton knew it wasn't a mistake and even if it was, the men who took her didn't think it was a mistake and that's all that mattered. "Well, I don't care what my chances are, I'm going to get her."  
"Command: Stop right there, meatbag," HK-47 barked. "Perhaps my communications were unclear. Raff O'Bannon is highly dangerous and likely to be well-protected by numerous and similarly dangerous cohorts. Even if you knew where Mr. O'Bannon's lair is—which you don't—there is no 'going to get her.'"

Mission looked between the pilot and the droid, expecting another showdown. But after a moment Atton nodded.

"You're right, HK. You're exactly right. I'll just have to go work for the bastard."

Mission screeched in protest.  
"Are you crazy? You want to become a member of the Inferno? That's—"

"Of course I don't _want _to," Atton retorted. "But what else can we do? You got any other bright ideas?"

"Well, no," Mission replied sheepishly. "Okay, but if you're going to go work for the Exchange, we'll need a plan. And a good one. Not one of those, rush-headlong-into-the-enemy's-base kind of plans where you end up getting killed and we don't even know about it."

"Fair enough," Atton muttered dryly. "Getting killed is not part of the plan." _But slaughtering any bastard who has laid a hand on Dane is definitely part of the plan,_ he thought but wisely did not say to Mission.

"I wish we had a Jedi," Mission mused, and then quickly looked at Atton. "I mean, _another _Jedi, besides you. You are a Jedi, right?" she added.

"Not really," Atton said. "Not like Dane," he said and looked away for a moment. "But we don't have a real Jedi, so we'll just have to make do with whatever plan we can come up with. And we have to do it quickly. We've wasted enough time already."

Mission nodded. "Okay, so what do we do?"

"Irritated Statement: I hate to point out the painfully obvious, but it is not wise to have the pilot attempt to work for the Inferno, as several members of that gang have already seen you."

HK's words sucked the air out of the room and Atton's sliver of energy at finally coming close to taking action drained away.

"Dammit! How else are we going to get in? There's no one else. I'll just have to take my chances. We don't have any other choice," he rambled and resumed pacing about the living room.

"I could do it," Mission said in a small voice.

Zaalbar, who had remained silent up to this point, suddenly had a lot to say on the matter.

"I don't know what the Wookie said, but I agree. You're not going, and that's that," Atton said. He didn't think the Twi'lek would be able to pull off posing as a member of the Exchange and even if she could, he wasn't about to put another woman's life at risk. _I've already done that once today, thank you. _

"You don't think I could do it?" Mission demanded.

"No, I don't," Atton said bluntly.

HK-47 took a clanking step forward. "Statement: Before you meatbags continue with this riveting exchange, I feel I should tell you that I have come up with a plan to retrieve Master. And what we do is this…"

They talked long into the night, working out the details and then finalizing their plan.

"It could work," Atton admitted as Mission and Zaalbar made to leave. They would come back after a few hours sleep and then the rescue would begin. _Yeah, it'll work… and I'm a gizka with only one--_

"It _will_ work," Mission insisted, seeing the doubtful look on his face. "I've got contacts that will help us, whether they know they are or not," she added.

"Hey, thank you both, for doing this," Atton muttered. "You hardly know us…"

The Twi'lek patted him on the arm. "You seem like a nice enough guy," she said lightly. "And I know Dane. Not a lot, but enough, you know?"

Atton's heart thudded dully in his chest. He knew.

"And she's a Jedi, you know? I'll bet she can take pretty good care of herself. Try not to worry too much and get some sleep, alright?"

Atton nodded and closed the door behind them.

But he didn't sleep that night. Atton sat at the window watching the repulsorlifts speed by with lesser and lesser frequency as night gave in to early morning. He thought of the plan and figured they had a one in a million chance of pulling it off with their skins intact. Starting an Exchange war was not something one did every day.

And he thought of Dane, of course, somewhere out in the city. _She _may_ be in the city,_ he amended to himself, but went no further. He wasn't about to admit to himself that the bastards who had taken her might be off-planet. Dane was a Jedi, true—a Jedi Master, no less, and Atton had seen her persevere in some tight spots and defeat powerful Sith lords, but this time…

_This is not the same, _he thought. _Something horrible has happened to her, I know it. _He covered his eyes with his hand and sat at the window for long hours, sending one thought out again and again:

_I'm coming for you, babe. Hold on, I'm coming…_


	12. Friends and Enemies

This one's a long one. Thanks for the reviews!

Chapter 11

…_I'm coming…_

Dane heard his voice, faint, like a whisper in her mind. She struggled to open her eyes and see him, but she could not. There was a stabbing pain in her arm and she retreated to unconsciousness.

Floating.

She was floating with her head back and her arms splayed. _No, not floating! _hissed a warning voice in her mind, c_arried…_ She smelled old leather, felt rough hands on her, and heard rumbling voices. The voices brought her closer and closer to consciousness and she struggled to haul herself out of the watery, heavy abyss she had been sunk into.

She was dumped on a table, and then there was pain in her head. A memory…being struck, hitting the ground and then…? She tried to move an arm or a leg, but could not. Too heavy. She was dimly aware that her robes were being stripped from her, her lightsaber taken, all weapons gone. She was cold now, clad only in her jumpsuit. And then his voice, _I'm coming…so sorry, babe. _

_Atton!_ And then Dane opened her eyes.

There was only a watery light above her and dim shapes moving in and out of it. A low, grating voice in an alien-tongue she knew but could not name remarked at her fluttering eyelids. She tried to reply and but no sound came. And then she felt cold hands grabbing at her, lifting her and setting her roughly down again. Now she was face down on the table, her head turned to one side. Her bleary eyes saw a tray. Upon that tray were instruments that a surgeon might use and then fear wrapped itself around her heart until she could hardly breathe. She found the strength to lift her head, to moan a soft, "No…" A greenish blue, three-fingered hand came into her field of vision and picked up one of the instruments. There came a horrifying metallic _whirring_ sound as the instrument was turned on and Dane tried to scream, but then the needle came again and with it, blackness.

_"General…can you hear me? General?"_

_"Bao-Dur?"_

"_Yes, General, I have to tell you—"_

"_I'm so glad you came back."_

_"Yes, I am too, but General I need you to listen to me now."_

_"Of course, my friend. I always do. Like with Atton. I found him, just like you said."_

_"I know, General and that is wonderful, but I have to tell you something."_

_"I feel so…funny. Why is that?"_

_"General, please."_

_"Something's wrong, isn't it?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Is it Atton? Is he okay?"_

_"I don't know, but you can't worry about him right now. I need you to listen to me very carefully, all right?"_

_"Bao-Dur, I'm afraid."_

_"Yes, General, I know, but I will try to help you. You need to wake up. You need to wake up very quickly."_

_"I don't want to. There's something wrong with me, isn't there? Bao-Dur, please tell me why I feel so strange."_

_"General, please listen to me. You need to wake up, and when you do, you'll need to stay focused and calm. Will you promise me you will do that?"_

_"Why? I don't understand."_

_"You are in great danger, General, and you'll need to think clearly to get out of it. Promise me you'll try to do this and remember that it is not like the last time."_

_"What--?"_

"_It is not lost, only stolen from you for a time."_

_"What is? Bao-Dur?"_

_"Be strong General. It is not like the last time…."_

_"Bao-Dur?"_

Dane awoke with a panicked start. Her friend's words were fading away in her mind like an echo that grows softer and softer until all she had left was a sense of his presence and the faint smell of engine grease hanging in the air. She tried to grasp at what he had told her, but her head was too clouded and so she concentrated on getting her bearings.

She was sitting on a cot in a tiny room. _A cell. It is a prison cell, _she amended, for the room held only the cot, a small refresher. The cell was hardly larger than a closet, and the door was not a door but an energy field that hummed quietly before her. Beyond the energy field was a dimness through which she could see nothing to give her clue as to her whereabouts. _But I am on a ship…I can hear the engines. _

Dane took inventory of everything she knew and listing them mentally in order to fight the fear of the hundred other things she didn't. _I am in a prisoner's cell, on a ship—a large one, by the feel of it. I have no weapons and my lightsaber is gone. _Her head ached and she gingerly touched her temples. On both sides she found bruising and soreness. A sliver of memory dodged in and out of her awareness but she could not grasp it. Dane closed her eyes as a wave of dizziness swam over her. Her mind felt sleepy and her body heavy. _I have been drugged, _she thought, adding that fact to the list. But the effects of the drug were wearing off and as they did, her perceptions grew stronger. Comprehension of her surroundings gave way to something else—something much worse. _There is something wrong, _she thought with real fear and as she became more and more awake, the sharper her fear became.

At the base of her skull there was a heaviness and a radiating energy that seeped into her brain and down her spine. Her nerves itched and tingled like a limb might as it awakens after falling asleep. Her hands flew to the back of her neck and her fingers touched metal. Dane was breathing in heavy gasps now. Dimly, she remembered Bao-Dur telling her to stay calm but his words were lost. There was something attached to her neck—_imbedded_ in the base of her skull; a little box-shaped hunk of metal with jagged parts. The tingling sensation was maddening and Dane clawed at the box that had been affixed to her neck. _No, it's not in my neck, _Dane thought frantically, _it is in my brain…in my spine… _And then Dane knew why she had felt so strange. A tidal wave of dread washed over her and a low moan escaped her lips.

The Force was gone.

_No, please no, it can't be. Not again!_

She tried summoning it to heal herself of the pain in her head. Nothing.

She tried to push the blanket from off of her legs and then tried to call it to her hand a moment later. Both attempts yielded nothing. The Force was gone from her again and all that remained was that emptiness—that yawning gorge of nothing that she had felt when it had been stripped from her by the Council so long ago. Bao-Dur had tried to comfort her, to tell her it was different this time. He was right in that this time, in the vacuum left by the Force, there was a prickling, tingling sensation that crawled into her brain and down her spine until she thought she'd go mad from it.

Dane clawed at the metal box at her neck—for she knew it was the reason she could not feel the Force. She raked her nails over it until she bled but the box was implacable. Her breathing was coming in rasping breaths until she started to scream.

And Dane screamed until she had no breath left at all…

Darkness.

The only light was the meager glow emanating from the energy shield that kept her in her cell. It fell on Dane's face as she sat on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, and her chin resting on her arms. The look on her face would have frightened Atton nearly half to death had he seen it. It was blank.

There was no light in her eyes, no spark of energy to animate her features. Dane had screamed until her throat was raw and the howls and curses of other prisoners—prisoners she hadn't know where there, in cells close to her own, judging by the sound—joined with her cries in one loud cacophony of rage. Those sudden sounds frightened her and she covered her ears with her hands as she screamed. _I am going mad, _she thought helplessly.

It hadn't taken long for a guard of some sort to march to Dane's cell. The man, wearing a uniform of black with an orange flame on the sleeve, disengaged the energy shield. He took one stride into the room and slapped Dane across the face with the back of his hand. She had reeled in the small confines and crashed against the wall before slumping to the floor.

"Shut up, maggots!" the guard thundered at Dane's neighbors. Order and quiet was restored after a time, and Dane sat in silence, trying desperately to center herself, to block out the horrible, nagging tingle that radiated from the box attached to her neck, out into her brain and down her spine, but it was beyond her.

_Not again, not again, not again, _she thought in an endless litany, rocking back and forth in her cell, hugging her knees to herself protectively. All too clearly, she remembered the first time she had had the Force taken from her, how weak and helpless she had felt. She remembered too, how she had struggled to find faith in her strengths and skills without it, and how long it had taken her to face an enemy without being paralyzed by fear. _And now I must start all over again. No! Not again, not again, not again…_

"Hey."

Dane started at the low, whispery voice outside her cell. For a moment, she thought she had imagined it, but then it came again.

"Hey." It was a man's voice, deep and resonant. "You all right?"

Dane crept forward on the floor until she was as close to the energy field as she could get without being shocked. "No," she replied, her own voice no more than a whisper. She peered through the energy field but could see nothing beyond. "Where are you?"

"In the cell next to yours. You're a Jedi, right?"

Dane flinched and sat down with her back against the wall of the cell. "How did you know?"

"I saw them bring you in. They only put the implants on Jedis."

Dane raised trembling fingers to the thing on her neck. "What is it?"

"I don't know, exactly. It blocks the Force, though, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Dane replied in a quaking voice. She took a steadying breath and said, "There are other Jedis here?"

"There were," said her neighbor, "back when the bounty on them was hot and heavy. They only caught two, and both had been implanted."

"What happened to them?"

There was a silence and then the man said, "One killed himself in the Ring, and the other went mad."

Dane closed her eyes, willing herself to stay calm, just as Bao-Dur had said. "There must be a way to take it off."

"Sure, that sick bastard Huvra put it in. I suppose he could take it out. How? I don't know."

_Huvra, _Dane thought. _Find Huvra. _The thought brought her a small measure of calm—she now had a target to focus on and hope that the Force would be restored to her. She took a steadying breath and felt slightly better.

"Where are we?" she asked her neighbor.

"On Raff O'Bannon's barge," he replied. "They caught you by surprise, didn't they? I guess they'd have to, to catch a Jedi. My name is Macen, by the way. Macen Vorn."

"Dane Koren," she returned. "Who is Raff O'Bannon?"

There was a silence and then the man named Macen said, "He's Exchange, a crime boss…big time. You never heard of him?"

"No," Dane said with a pang of regret—she had never consulted HK-47. _Caught unaware…again. I was just so distracted with Atton…Atton!_ _Where is he? What happened?_

"Macen, did you see them bring anyone else in with me? A man, tall, dark hair…?"

"No," Macen replied. "Just you."

Dane's heart dropped to the floor and she closed her eyes. She thought she was going to be sick. _He can't be dead, I heard his voice. I know I did. I heard his voice_. Dane let that thought comfort her and she opened her eyes. "We're on a ship, you said?" she asked.

"Yeah, O'Bannon's barge."

"Do you know where we are?" Dane asked, dreading the answer. They could be light-years from Nar Shaddaa and then Atton would never find her…

"We're still in orbit around Nar Shaddaa. O'Bannon's got his hands in a lot of stuff there. I expect we won't head for the Manaan system for another four or five days yet."

Dane nodded. _Five days. I have five days and after that things are going to become more difficult. _"How long have you been here?" she asked.

"Eleven standard months," Macen returned and Dane heard a sigh. "Give or take."

"Why are you here?" Dane ventured.

"Why are any of us here?" Macen replied and Dane could imagine him gesturing to indicate the rest of the prisoners—however many of them there were. "All of us, at one time or another, pissed off Raff O'Bannon and are now biding our time."

"Biding your time until what?"

"Until he kills us. So what did you do to piss him off?" Macen asked.

"I don't know," Dane said. "I killed a hutt. It was Exchange. Or maybe the bounty…?"

"Doubt it. No one left to pay those."

"Tell me about O'Bannon."

There was another pause and then Macen said, "Get some rest now…or try to. It's late."

Dane didn't like the tone of the man's voice. It sounded like he was telling her not to bother learning more. _As if it doesn't matter. _"Macen?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for talking to me."

"Sure, Dane."

There was a soft shuffling sound of Macen getting up off the floor, and Dane imagined he must have been sitting much as she was, with his back against the wall.

Dane tried to sleep that night, but the maddening tingling feeling at the back of her neck—and the dread of what it meant—kept her awake. She didn't sleep that night, nor all the next day, which was uneventful but for a guard shutting off the energy field twice to deliver a tray of surprisingly hearty food. Macen Vorn, after some urging by Dane, told her of Raff O'Bannon. She didn't like what she heard, but the more information she had, the better. Macen told her in hushed tones about the crime boss; his growing power, some of the businesses he had his hands in, and, worst of all, his proclivities for torture and inhumanities. _Kreia would have called them 'indignities', _she thought of some of the things Macen told her in a hushed, hesitant tone. She shivered and asked Macen to continue. Listening to his voice was the only thing that kept her mind from the horrible _itch_ of the implant at the base of her skull.

Macen told her of the Duros, Huvra, who was likely responsible for the implant.

"He's a sick bastard, that one," Macen remarked. "You best hope you've seen the last of him."

"I'll go mad if he doesn't remove this thing, though, won't I?"

Macen had nothing to say to that.

The man told her also that the ship they were on was called _Affliction _and served only secondly to take O'Bannon and his crew where he wished to go. It's first function, according to Macen, was to hold anything and everything that would entertain him. He had a fully-equipped cantina complete with a Pazaak den, a harem, and a complete swoop track.

"He has an actual zoo on board," Macen said with a chuckle. "Real kinrath hounds too. You can hear them sometimes, howling."

But the thing that entertained Raff O'Bannon more than anything else, was death.

"The Ring is where us prisoners battle one another. That's why the food is so good. He likes us strong so that we are at full killing capacity, and I am his prize," Macen said with obvious irony.

"How so?" Dane asked.

"Because I have never been beaten. I've killed everyone he pits against me. You're a Jedi, a warrior, right?"

Dane nodded. Macen couldn't see her but it didn't matter—she was sure he felt her reply. Within the short span of time they were already getting used to one another's company.

"I'm glad of it," he continued. "If he decides to put you in the Ring, you'll fight everyone else in this prison until you get to me."

Dane didn't want to think about the implications. It would be bad enough to have to fight Macen. _But what if he puts me in the harem? _

On the morning of the next day, two guards appeared at Dane's cell and the energy shield was deactivated.

"Boss wants to see you," one of them told her. She had only seconds before they hauled her out, each gripping her by the arm. As they started walking out, Dane had her first real glimpse of the prison.

It was a dark, rectangular chamber with cells along each wall but one, about twelve in all. Ahead of her there were no cells but a kind of office where another man—a warden of sorts—sat behind another energy field. Dane craned her neck around to look at the cell beside her own. Macen, behind his own energy field was only a dim shape, but she saw him raise a hand to her.

_No, I am no one's prisoner! _

Dane did not have the Force, but she was far from helpless. Before either of the guards knew what was happening she had broken free of their grip. She spun quickly so that one was behind her and the other before her. To the one in front, she slammed the heel of her hand into his nose. She felt bones give way under her hand and the guard fell back, screaming. A second later, she dealt a blow to the jaw to the guard behind her, her elbow leading. The guard took the blow but recovered quickly and Dane was ready. She had trained well and hard with her lightsaber but there had been a time when she was not allowed to carry one, and so Dane had become a master at weaponless fighting. The two guards suffered for it and in a matter of moments, both lay dead at her feet.

The other prisoners were shouting and an alarm was sounding. Dane saw the warden, foolishly, shut off the energy shield that separated him from the rest of the chamber so as to take aim at her with his heavy blaster. Dane almost didn't duck in time for she had started to call the Force to her create a stasis-field. She felt the searing heat of the warden's shot go past her cheek. She turned her duck into a roll and came out of it, sweeping her leg at him. Her foot caught him at the kneecap, shattering it instantly. He screamed, his blaster dropping to the ground. Dane grabbed it up and ran into the warden's office.

The office was no more than a chair, a locker, and a console. She scanned the panels until she found what she was looking for. With a flick of her wrist, the energy fields to the other prisoners' chambers faded away.

Chaos ensued…but for only a precious few moments.

The prisoners hurried from their cells to the warden's office, looking for weapons. "You got balls," said one appreciatively to Dane. She stepped out of their way and made ready to run, to find an escape. A voice behind her stopped her.

"Hey."

She turned around and saw Macen Vorn for the first time. He was older than she, perhaps in his early forties. He had dark blond hair, kind blue eyes and a thin beard framing his jaw. Clad only a jumpsuit, Dane could not help but appreciate the muscles of his arms and broad chest and shoulders.

"Hi, Macen," she said with a smile.

"Hi, Dane," he returned with a smile of his own.

"Here take—"

Dane had been in the process of handing Macen the heavy blaster when reality suddenly became twisted and heavy.A crushing weight was pressed her down andshe crumpled to the floor. Pain radiated from the implant at her neck and she moaned and thrashed, helpless to fight it.

Huvra and several heavily armed men in black appeared and the riot was over before it had begun. They kicked and fought their way into the warden's office via another door, knocking inmates' to the ground with the butts of their blasters. Huvra watched, a small smile on his features. In the Duros' hand was a remote. He touched a button on it and Dane, lying at Macen's feet, stopped convulsing.

"Bad, bad, little girl," Huvra said in his own tongue.

Dane struggled to clear her head, to stand and fight, but all strength had left her. Macen knelt beside her and helped her to sit up.

"Well, it was fun while it lasted," he said in his low voice. Two of the guards tore her away, hauling her roughly to her feet.

"We see Boss now," the Duros named Huvra said to her.

She tried to focus her eyes on him, remember his face, but her head was still swimming. Her eyes fell on the remote in his three-fingered hand, and rage started to well up in her. "I'm going to kill you," she whispered to him.

The Duros laughed. "We go see Boss now. He mad at you, you bad little girl."

Fear tightened its already impressive hold on her heart and she shivered. Instead of two guards, she now had four, with the Duros walking behind, cackling and sniggering.

"And maybe, Boss will let me play with Jedi some more, yes? I like to play with little Jedi, and I have lots and lots of toys…"

_New Character Visual Aid: Russell Crowe, all the way. _


	13. From Around the Galaxy

From around the Galaxy

**Nar Shaddaa…**

"I have to stick this where?"

The pilot and the Twi'lek were in the apartments, making final adjustments and preparations before beginning the rescue. HK-47 stood in the corner, his green eyes glittering.

Mission rolled her eyes. "Atton, really. You put it in your left eye. That way, if the patch gets knocked off—which it will, knowing you—your eye will appear blind."

Atton frowned at the milky white lens perched on his finger. "I hate putting things in my eyes—always have. And don't even get me started on this contraption," he said, indicating the mechanism in the Twi'lek's hand. "A patch you call it? Looks more like a torture device."

Mission sighed and shook her head. "It's an ocular enhancement.(1) See? These parts are drilled into the skull, go into the eye and are attached to the retina. They inject some sort of chemical in there and…well, I don't know exactly how it works, but with it on, a blind person can see."

Atton's eyes widened. "Hey, listen, this is just a simple disguise. No need to start drilling and injecting…"

Mission planted her hands on her hips. "You're such a baby. Put the contact in so I can put this on you and then we can get started. Dane's waiting, you know?"

Atton ceased his complaining and gingerly slipped the blue-ish white contact lens over his left eye. Mission helped him affix the ocular enhancement over his head and settled it over his now "blind" eye.

"How does this thing work?" Atton asked. "I can hardly see out of it."

"That's 'cause it's meant for a blind person," Mission explained. "No part is working now—it's too old and it's just for show anyway."

Truthfully, Mission didn't know how it worked but she figured something as complex and archaic as the ocular enhancement would stand out so much that Atton wearing it would not look the slightest bit familiar to any Inferno thug who was there at Dane's capture. She gave the leather strap one last tug and then stepped back to admire her work.

Atton did not look like Atton anymore, which was good because it had been decided that he was the best and only candidate for the job despite the risk. She had slicked his hair back giving him a more severe look and since some of the O'Bannon's men had already seen him, it was necessary to cover his face, at least partially, and so she had gone to a friend who ran a med clinic. Without too many questions, she had obtained the ocular enhancement. It was an old device, rarely used except by those who couldn't afford a bionic eye. Of course, nothing was drilled into Atton's head. Mission had filed off the parts that would have been bored into his temple, and so the entire contraption served only as a patch over his "blind" eye. That in place, plus some black leather clothing to replace his old ribbed jacket, and Atton looked…_He looks dangerous, _Mission thought with a pleasurable shiver, and had to remind herself that he and Dane were together. _Too bad, _she added, admiring him in his sleek, black leather get up. _He's sexy as hell…for a spacejock, anyway._

"Well, how do I look? Like an Exchange thug on the lam?" Atton asked, tucking his double-bladed lightsaber into his belt.

"You look very, uh, nice…but you can't bring that!" Mission exclaimed, indicating the lightsaber. "Hello? What kind of an Exchange thug carries around a lightsaber?"

"The kind that murders Jedis," Atton said, and for a moment, a dark shadow passed over his face and then he really _did_ look dangerous. "I'll tell anyone who asks that it's a souvenir but I'm not going anywhere with out it. And I have these for my 'real' weapons," he added and tucked two blasters into their holsters. "You ready, HK?" Atton asked.

"Statement: I have been ready to annihilate the meatbags who have taken Master since you crawled back into the apartment two days ago."

"You and me both," Atton muttered, tucking on a pair of black leather gloves. Mission noticed he was slower and more careful on his right hand.

"How is it?" she asked.

"Not good. It's a weakness, just like this stupid contact lens and the patch are weaknesses. I can hardly see out of one eye and my hand can barely hold a cigarra. HK-47, you're going to have to do the heavy blasting, so to speak."

"Delighted Statement: It would be my pleasure," replied the droid and he cocked his disrupter carbine for emphasis.

Atton turned to Mission. "Everything ready on your end?"

Mission nodded, "As ready as can be. Big Z's still out there doing his part and I've made a few well-placed comments here and there. Whether they're picked up on…?" The Twi'lek sighed. "What about on your end? You sure you can trust that hutt?"

"Vogga?" Atton shrugged. "No, but he owes us a favor. Either he'll come through or he won't, but I can't worry about it now. Okay, time to go," he said and slung a bag over his shoulder.

"Wait, Atton, now remember, the thugs in the uniforms with the orange flames—those aren't the ones you have to be careful of. Well, they _are_, but they're like decoys for the dangerous thug who is hiding unnoticed nearby, watching."

"For the hundredth time, I got it," Atton said but spared a crooked smile for the Twi'lek. "Thanks, Mission. Now you be careful, all right?"

"You too. Good luck, Atton," Mission said and gave him a shy kiss on the cheek. _Dane wouldn't mind one little peck on the cheek,_ Mission told herself and hoped the blush that spread all over her face wasn't too noticeable. Apparently it wasn't for Atton was already heading for the door, HK-47 in tow.

"See you out there," he called to her.

The Twi'lek checked her wrist chronometer. "Yep. Three standard hours until showtime. See you then. Are you sure you remember everything? There's a lot of details, you know? You're story can't sound made up or hesitant—you have to know every last bit of it by heart."

"Will you stop worrying, I got it already!"

"You'd better," Mission replied. _This plan only has about a million holes in it. _A thought occurred to her and she cried frantically, "Atton, wait! We haven't thought of a name for you! We got to have something you'll answer to instantly or it'll be suspicious."

Atton paused at the door and Mission saw that dark shadow come over his face again. "I think I have just the name..."

* * *

**Dantooine…**

Disciple rubbed his tired eyes and went over the message he was writing in his datapad for the hundredth time.

..._And so it is with great urgency and eye towards the rapidly approaching future, that I respectfully ask you to convene a council here on Dantooine as soon as your duties on Coruscant allow. Name the date and I will make certain of the attendance of other Jedi masters, for I am knowledgeable of the existence of several—your former companion Master Juhani among them. She is here on Dantooine and agrees that a council must be convened at once. Her message to you will follow so that you will know I am sincere and my need authentic. _

_There is another Master in particular that I would have you meet, as it is she who has alerted me to the danger on the horizon. Her name is Dane Koren and she served under Revan during the Mandalorian Wars. She is now attempting to find the former Sith Lord, either to join her or stop her. It is imperative that this Master Koren attends your conclave but I'm afraid I have not the influence with her. It is a longer story than I have time to write here, but Dane is somewhat of a rebel in that she feels she must search out Revan alone. However, if you were to convene a council, she would come, for I believe you have information she desperately needs. _

_And there is a broader need for such a council. The Civil War, and, more recently, the deaths of Masters Vrook, Kavar and Zez-Kai Ell have weakened the Jedi presence in the galaxy. Unfortunately, the Sith, despite their own recent losses, will waste little time in taking advantage of that fact. We must convene a new council, formulate a plan for the approaching war, align ourselves as a guiding influence with the Republic again, and—most importantly—regain our position in the galaxy as protectors and keepers of peace. _

_I will not presume that any of what I have written of the need for the Jedi to rise again isn't common knowledge to you, Master Shan. I write only out of urgency. There are a great many things I wish to discuss with you. Please come. _

_--Your faithful servant,_

_Mical_

Disciple made a disgusted sound and nearly wiped the message clean to start again when a hand on his arm stopped him.

"It is good enough," she said, her accent thick.

Disciple looked up at the Jedi standing over him and gave her a weary smile. "I suppose, Master Juhani, but it is only a fraction of what I want to say. And the worst part is I am a complete stranger to her. Who am I to Bastila Shan? She doesn't know who I am, or what I know. She'll read this and think, _What right has this person to advise me of anything?_"

"She'll read the truth in it and if she doubts at all, we have my message with it to lend yours weight."

"I suppose you are right."

"Of course, I am right," growled the Cathar with a playful smile, "I am the master and you the padawan, yes?"

Disciple nodded. "Yes." He was glad of that. With the absence of Dane, his own Jedi training had suffered until he met Juhani on Dantooine. Only a week and half ago Atton had dropped him here, and only another day after that did the Cathar arrive. She had said she felt called back to Dantooine and the ruined enclave she had called her home so long ago. "It is like coming back to your house after fire has destroyed it," she had told him. "There is ash and charred remnants, but there is hope for the future too, to rebuild. You are that hope Disciple." And so Juhani had begun to train him. He progressed quickly and it was his secret urge that if—when—Bastila convened a new council, he would be named 'Master' and be permitted to attend along with the rest.

_If there _is _a new council…What if my message never reaches Master Shan? Or what if it does, and she declines? _Disciple read the last lines of his message to her. '_…so many things to discuss.'_ _Quite an understatement, but how else shall I put it but plainly and simply? _

Juhani, who had taken up the datapad said, "How will this Dane Koren know that a council is being convened? I think you are right that she will come if Bastila calls it, but if she doesn't know about it…?"

Disciple sighed and shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know where she is. She may be as far as the Outer Rim already."

Juhani paced the room for a moment. The two were in a chamber Administrator Adare had lent them in the new government offices. The afternoon sun was streaming in through the open window and the Cathar's pupils narrowed to slits. "I think I shall send my other pupil to find Master Koren. If she is strong in the Force, then it is likely she will know when the council is called anyway, but better not to take chances."

Disciple felt his heart lift at Juhani's words, but only for a moment. "How will your student ever find her? None of us, the crew of the _Ebon Hawk_, knows where she went."

"Where did she leave you?"

"Nar Shaddaa, but—"

"Then we shall start there. You will learn, my padawan, that even the most difficult of tasks begin—and can _only_ begin—by taking one simple step." Juhani smiled. "I shall send my student to Nar Shaddaa. He is strong in the Force, vastly intelligent, and extremely clever. I wouldn't doubt he'll track Master Koren and have her here on Dantooine within the week."

Disciple shook his head for the likelihood of Juhani's student finding a trace of the Jedi in the maze that was Nar Shaddaa was about nil in his opinion. But he couldn't help feel bolstered by the Cathar's words. The thought that he might see Dane again—even if not within the week, then soon— didn't hurt either and then he felt a pang of guilt. _Mind you do not make any decision or take any action that would jeopardize everything you are working so hard for here. You are a Jedi. Remember the Code. _

Disciple nodded to himself at his vow and then realized Juhani was watching him. For a moment he thought the Cathar was going to ask him something he did not have a prepared answer for, but Juhani merely studied him for a moment, an almost melancholy look in her cat-like eyes.

"Come, let us train," she said suddenly. "I think for today's lesson, we shall go over some of the precepts of the Code. The Code is a valuable thing for diligent adherence to its edicts will spare you pain in the future."

"Do you know this by personal experience, Master?" Disciple asked gently.

Juhani nodded. "Oh, yes, my padawan. I have seen what happens when the Code is tossed away like refuse and then suddenly taken up again. It must be constant and consistent if the wisdom behind it is to be discovered and benefited from. A friend of mine had relations with a Jedi who treated the Code as such—to be used when it suited her purpose and discarded when it did not," she said with anger coloring her voice and sparkling in her eyes. My friend…he suffered for it." For a moment there was silence as the Cathar was lost in memory. Disciple waited quietly. _She is speaking of Revan, I can feel it. _

Since he had met her and discovered something of who she was, Disciple had longed for Juhani to speak to him of her travels with Revan and their battle against Malak. But the Cathar spoke little of that time and when she did it was with anger towards Revan. Something had happened right before Revan's disappearance that Juhani could not forgive, though she would never say what. _Someday she will trust me enough to tell me everything. _Disciple contented himself with that thought and Juhani retreated from her ruminations.

"I'm sorry, I am angered when Jedi stray from the Code. Ironic, given its precept about anger and passionI am not perfect, I'm afraid, but I have come to value the Code and everything that is good about the Jedi tradition. I strayed once, you see. I fell to the Dark Side, Mical. No, don't say anything, it is right that you should know the truth. It was here, on this planet that I fell and it was Revan who showed me the way out. Of course, none knew she was Revan at the time. To us, and to herself, she was merely ­Arax Saraan, a padawan in training to the Masters and to Bastila." Juhani's gaze wandered, as she became lost in the memories again. "It seems so long ago…" she murmured and then snapped back to attention.

"My point is this: I have the Code, and it is the Code that guides me, keeps me on the right path. I was lost before. I think that is what falling to the Dark Side is…to become lost. One has no boundaries or truths, only chaos and emotion. I am a long way from falling to the Dark Side, Mical, but it is the Code that shows me when I take even the smallest step in that direction, off the path and into that chaos." Juhani smiled. "My anger is my weakness which is why I took you on as my padawan."

"How so?" Mical asked, fascinated. He never met anyone who had fallen to the Dark Side and then returned.

"Because you are so calm, so tranquil. You embody the precept, 'There is no emotion, only peace,' and I believe it shall help to keep me centered just to be near you." The Cathar leaned closer, her eyes boring intently into his. "Keep to the Code, Mical. Do not let your emotions, be they anger, hate, or _love_ blind you to your purpose."

Disciple nodded, sure that Juhani had crawled right into his heart and seen his feelings for Dane. _She is warning me, and I would do well to heed that warning. _He met his master's eye and said, "Yes, Master Juhani."

The Cathar's demeanor instantly lightened and she stood up and planted her hands on her hips. "Good. Now let's see about sending my other pupil to Nar Shaddaa."

"Who is he?" Disciple asked. "I have seen no one with you since your arrival."

Juhani smiled. "No, but I'm sure you have heard him buzzing around our heads in one of the Administrator's shuttles. He can't stay away from a ship, no matter that it is a slow, old shuttle," she added with a laugh.

Disciple frowned. "I thought you said he was your pupil. Is he not a Jedi?"

"Oh, yes, he is a Jedi, and a very good one. He is strong in the Force, stronger than I have seen in some time, though he has too much of his father in him. It will be good for him to go to Nar Shaddaa; piloting a ship that far is sure to whet his appetite for flying a little." Juhani smiled fondly at the thought, and then turned to Disciple. "Now, you send that datapad off to Bastila this instant, yes?"  
Disciple smiled. "Yes, Master Juhani," he replied as the Cathar went out to find her pupil. Disciple thought of her warning as he prepared the datapad to be sent to Coruscant. _It is an easy enough thing to vow obeisance to the Code when Dane is light-years away. It will be another thing entirely when she is right before me. _But being with Juhani was strengthening his resolve and teaching him to value those things that were larger than he. The dramas of his own life were small and insignificant when compared with what the Jedis needed to accomplish. _I will try not to forget my purpose, _he vowed silently and set back to work. Yet thoughts of large blue eyes and a warm smile haunted him still…

* * *

**Somewhere in the Outer Rim….**

"My lord," the count said and bowed low to the figure before him. "I have news."

"Speak."

"All dead. Nihilus, Sion, Kreia. The Exile has killed them all."

"This is…upsetting."

"Yes, lord. But I'm afraid there is more. Malachor V is gone."

"The Exile's work as well?"

"It would appear so."

"Kreia was a fool."

"Darth Traya did manage to kill the Jedi Masters Kavar, Vrook and Zez-Kai Ell, my lord."

"Small recompense for having trained the Exile and then failing to turn her. Kreia wanted to use the girl to destroy the Force. She was, as I said, a fool."

"Yes, my lord."

"You had better have a plan to handle the Exile, count."

"I do, my lord. My protégé is ready. I will send them out at once."

"And who, pray tell, might that be? Not Maul, I presume?"

"No, lord. While Maul is progressing well in his training, he is young yet, and not ready."

"Then….who?"

"Darth Tertius is my pupils' name."

"I have never heard of such a lord. Have you been hiding him from me?"

"I would never presume, my lord. No, I have kept their identity secret so that the Republic and, more importantly—Revan—has no knowledge of them."

"Your pronouns confuse me, count, and I grow impatient. Darth Tertius is more than one person?"

"In a matter of speaking, my lord. Darth Tertius is three young Sith lords, all of a same mind. A hive mind, you might say. Quite a feat of engineering if I may say so myself."

"If you must. I care little for your creations, count. Results are the only things that interest me. Darth Tertius must not fail. The Exile must die."

"Of course, lord. It shall be done."

"And of Revan? What news?"

"Very little, my lord. She is close, though my spies have not been able to locate her base of operations. Yet."

"You had better pray they do, and quickly. I will tolerate no further failures on your part."

"Yes, my lord. I will not fail you again."

"See that you don't. Now be gone."

"Yes, my lord," and the count went out.

* * *

1- Footnote. The ocular enhancement pack works by injecting a microscopic amount of synthetic rhodopsin, or 'visual purple' at regulated intervals into the retina that no longer can do so on its own. The rhodopsin translates the light absorbed by the retina into electrical impulses, which are sent into the optic nerves for the brain to interpret as images. Some ocular enhancements, depending on the damage to the eye, will not only inject the rhodopsin but also do the conversion to electric impulses and interpreting of images as well. Additional sensors also pick up muscle movement and the eye on the screen would move in conjunction with the healthy eye. The ocular enhancement has gone by the way side after the invention of the completely bionic eye, which functions with near identical ability as a real eye and is much less conspicuous. 


	14. Raff O'Bannon

Note: The following chapter has some language in it not suitable for those who have been living a sheltered existence...;) Just a word of warning. Thanks to all who review and please note all characters, events, and situations are fictional and any similarity to real or other fictional persons (or episodes of Star Trek) are seriously unintentional. (Especially the Star Trek part.)

* * *

Chapter 14

Raff O'Bannon

Dane was hauled into the crime bosses inner chambers like a ragdoll dragged between the two guards. She was weak and dizzy from the seizure Huvra had induced using the implant. The Duros snickered and giggled from behind her as they marched through the ship's innards, flanked by two more guards. Dane wanted nothing more than to rip out his throat and watch him die slowly for all the pain he had caused her. Such violent thoughts were rare for her, but Dane was having a rather hard time keeping her perspective on things. It became worse when she finally arrived at Raff O'Bannon's chambers.

The chambers were sparse and ill lit and consisted, from what she little she could see, of only a long table and a chair behind it. There was a lamp on the table casting only a slant of light onto its surface and illuminating nothing. There was a man in the chair and he was smoking a cigarra—the smoke of which wafted in lazy tendrils into the air. Next to the man in the chair, standing a little to the side, was another man that Dane, had she remembered anything about her capture, would have recognized as the man with the map. He had dark hair and a hawkish nose, and stood still as a statue, his hands behind his back.

"Ahhhh," said the man in the chair—most certainly Raff O'Bannon— in a heavily accented voice, though Dane couldn't guess from which system he was retched out of. "My little peach has come to see me," he said, drawling, lazy. "You have been a very bad little peach, haven't you? Bad, bad, bad, bad…" he muttered quietly until the word trailed away. Suddenly he sat up straight and slammed a meaty fist on the table. "Turn on some lights, for fuck's sake!" he barked and there was a flurry of action behind her as lights were activated. Raff O'Bannon, now in a room bright as day, smiled at Dane. She shivered and nearly looked away.

He was not ugly or hideously scarred, but a plain-looking man of about forty. He wore no weapon that she could see, nor did he make any threatening gestures, but Dane was suddenly more afraid than she could remember being in a long time. Raff O'Bannon had a look about him that conjured images of rampaging kinrath hounds—a kind of volatile energy that seemed as though it would be unleashed at any time with little or no provocation. His smile was that of someone who was about to plant a knife in your gut under the pretense of giving you a hug. And his eyes. Dane thought his eyes were like blue chips of ice and they held not one shred of compassion or empathy no matter how much he smiled. Dane took a steadying breath and met O'Bannon's eyes unflinchingly. _This man looks like he is going to kill me dead at any moment…I will not die a coward. _

"Sorry about the earlier darkness, peach," Raff said, running a hand through his flaming red hair. "Dramatic wasn't it? You, the helpless captive and myself, the all-powerful crime lord sitting behind his barren table…in the dark." He sucked in a breath between his teeth and said, "I love that kind of shite. Makes me hard…if you catch me drift."

Dane clenched her jaw and said nothing. Raff's eyes raked her up and down and he took another drag on his cigarra. "So, you were a Jedi, eh?"

"I _am_ a Jedi," Dane breathed.

"No, no, I don't think so. Not anymore. Huvra, that sick little frog of mine, put one of his toys on yer neck and now ….? No more Jedi."

_Say nothing. Give him nothing. Don't let him have the satisfaction…_

"She is still causing trouble, boss," said one of the guards. "She started a riot in the cellblock."

Raff gave a low whistle, as though he were impressed, and sat back in his chair. "Did she, now? And how did that go? Successful, was it? Is my ship now overrun with prisoners? Do I have a bloody mutiny on me hands?" He was asking his men, but he was looking at Dane. It took everything she had not to turn away.

"No, boss. We took care of it."

Raff snorted. "Of course. The prisoners break free nearly ten times a week. I don't give a shite; they're not going anywhere. What I do care about, peach," Raff said, leaning across the table, his voice taking on a dangerously low tone, "is that ye killed one o' me mates. You know who I mean, don't you, love? That fat turd of a hutt, Dibbuk? He was old and he was clearly stupid, and he took too many vacations but the wormy bastard brought me a load o' credits every bloody week. So the question now—the one I've brought ye all the way up here to ask ye—is how in the _hell are you going to PAY ME BACK?"_

Just like that, Raff's low voice turned into a rage and he leapt forward over his desk with astonishing speed and agility. He slapped his hand over Dane's mouth, grabbing her by the jaw and yanking her toward him until they were nose to nose. His breath, tinged with cigarra smoke and the faint odor of stale whisky wafted over her as his eyes—those dead things—bored into her own. He held her like that for a good thirty seconds, squeezing until she thought her jaw would crack. And just as suddenly as it happened, he released her and leaned against the table, casually taking a drag off of the cigarra he still held in his other hand.

"Let's chat, you and I," he said, breathing smoke out of his nose and then stubbing the butt out on the bottom of his shoe. "We seem to have a situation, don't we? You killed my hutt and now you owe me."

Dane cursed her foolishness. _You didn't wait for HK's report. Stupid arrogance to take the Exchange so lightly…_But for all her dread and regret, Dane kept her face a mask. Whatever happened, she would not let this monster see her fear. She said nothing, but stood up straight. The guards had released her but they stood close and she could hear Huvra's raspy breathing behind her. She thought briefly of trying to make an escape, but with little hope. Her eyes flickered to the man behind the desk. He looked almost as bad as O'Bannon, standing stock-still and appearing as immovable as stone.

"She's lookin' at ye, Garn," Raff remarked to the man behind the desk. "Perhaps she fancies you. Well, why not? Yer a handsome bloke? Heeyyy," O'Bannon drawled, as though a thought had just occurred to him. "Weren't she with a bloke when ye found her?"

Dane's heart began to pound and her stomach did a slow roll. _Oh gods, Atton! Please, oh please, oh please…_

The man behind the desk, a Mandalorian Dane noticed, nodded and shifted slightly. "Yeah, boss," he said, his voice low and devoid of emotion. "She was."

"Well, I do hope you killed him," Raff said, the tiniest tinge of a warning in his tone. "You did kill him, didn't ye? Please tell me ye blew his brains out all over the street where ye found 'em. After all the trouble this little peach's caused me, it's the least ye could have done for your dear old boss."

Dane's face drained of color as Garn nodded. The sudden, terrible pain that gesture caused her took her breath away. She closed her eyes against that first wave of inexorable grief and so missed the nervous expression that touched Garn's placid face for a brief moment.

"Eh?" Raff glanced over his shoulder. "Dead?"

"Yeah, boss," Garn said. "He's dead."

Raff clapped his hands together like a man who had just closed a deal. "All right, then, now we're doing business. I can see by yer distinctly nauseous expression," he said to Dane, "that the bloke held a special place in yer little heart, so we'll take into account his untimely demise as part of the enormous debt you owe me. The new question is, how in the world are you ever going to make up for the rest?" He paced around the desk, back to his chair, his hand to his mouth, as though deep in thought. He resumed his seat and lit another cigarra.

Dane heard his words as though they were coming from far away. She felt dazed, as though she was in some horrible dream and could not, for the life of her, wake up. _He's dead? I heard his voice. I know I did. I heard his voice…_But the memory of that voice was hazy and she had been drugged at the time. The slim hope she had held died, and she went numb. Her face became as stone, and she stood still, meeting O'Bannon's gaze without flinching. _There is nothing more he can do to me. Nothing at all…_

O'Bannon was studying her again, his eyes going up and down her jumpsuit-clad body. "Yer a pretty little peach," he remarked lazily. "You'd do well in me little harem—probably turn a tidy profit there too. But, yer going to go crackers on me not too soon. Huvra!" he barked suddenly and the hated Duros took a step forward.

"Yes, boss?"

"How long do you reckon me little peach has got before yer implant turns her nutty?"

"I should say a month at the most, boss," the Duros said in his own tongue.

Raff sighed as though he were being wrongfully put upon by everyone and everything. "Dammit, you little frog, I can't have me whores turning crazed on me clients." He looked at Dane and shrugged. "I guess that means it's the Ring for you, peach," he said as though the matter was completely out of his hands. "I reckon yer an able fighter, what with all that Jedi hoo-ha they teach yer kind." Then he leaned forward and took a long pull from his cigarra. "But don't think that doesn't mean I won't be calling on ye for my own personal services. I like me whores a little crazed," he said and then laughed a mirthless laugh. "You fight tomorrow, peach. This business is taking bloody longer than I thought on this shite-heap of a moon. I need the amusement. And if you survive, well, then you get to come and see me, eh? Now, get her out of me sight before she throws up on me bloody carpet."

The guards clapped their hands on her and started to lead her away. Dane had heard little of the conversation that followed the news of Atton's death. Her shock had numbed her to the core and she neither knew nor cared what happened next. But as she was turned to go, her gaze fell upon the Duros.

"I'm going to kill you," she promised him in a voice she didn't recognize as her own. "And you too," she added to Garn, still standing behind the desk.

Raff O'Bannon's derisive laughter followed her out of his chambers and she was led back to her cell, down in the depths of the ship.

As soon as the guards were gone and energy field back on, she heard Macen's voice from his cell.

"What happened? Are you all right?"

Dane slid down the wall of the cell and sat down so that had there been no wall separating them, she would be back to back with Macen. "They killed him, Macen," she said, her voice dead to her own ears. "They killed him and it is my fault."

"Killed who? Oh." Macen said, obviously remembering from the 'tall man with dark hair' she had asked about upon her arrival. "I'm sorry, Dane," he said. "Real sorry."

"Yeah," she said absently.

"I would…comfort you, if I could," Macen said awkwardly.

"Thank you," Dane replied. "I think I'm going to go to sleep now," she said. _And with a little luck, I won't wake up for a long, long time…_


	15. Showtime

Chapter 15

Showtime

Atton was only half playing Pazaak with the twitchy Rodian; he had one eye on the game and the other on the two men in black uniforms with orange flame logos on the sleeves sitting at the bar. _There's the bait, now where's the hook? _Atton thought, casually glancing around to see if he could spot the undercover Inferno thug Mission had told him would be near. _Of course, this damn eye patch isn't helping. _The cantina was dim, as cantinas are wont to be, and made hazy by cigarra smoke. Atton didn't see anyone watching him and nearly kicked the table out of frustration. HK-47, standing like a sentry behind him, shifted with a soft clank. Atton could almost feel the droid's eagerness for a fight. With an impatient snort, he threw down a second ten-card beside the first and won a round for the third time in a row.

The Rodian swore at Atton profusely and though Atton couldn't speak that language as well as some others, he did recognize the words "cheating" and "bastard" as part of the tirade.

"I didn't cheat, now get the hell out of here if you're done giving me your credits," Atton said in a harsher tone than he would normally adopt. He wasn't even sorry when the Rodian, with a final, longing look at the pile of credits he was leaving in Atton's hands, slowly got up and left. His new identity was making it easy for him to vent his anger and fear for Dane—_I've become a real asshole, _he thought scooping the credits into a pile, _and its not a new identity, it's an old one. One I thought I had escaped from the moment Dane told me she had forgiven me for murdering those Jedi… _The story he and Mission had worked out hit a little too close to home for his comfort but being believable was key, and so Atton gave his impatience and anger free reign.

Atton gave another surreptitious scan of the cantina and swore under his breath. The patch blinded his eye and the contact lens was irritating and uncomfortable. He was about to voice a complaint on the subject when the appearance of Mission at the door of the cantina jolted him to attention. "Showtime," he muttered. "You ready, HK?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Statement," HK began in a lower volume, "I'm ready …_Master Jaq_."

Atton shivered at the droid's words but couldn't help feel comforted by HK-47's presence. _Not to mention the presence of the very large disrupter carbine in its hands. _He slouched low in his chair and looked anywhere but at the Twi'lek as she approached.

"Jaq! JAQ!" Mission shrieked and ran toward him. She flung her arms around Atton's neck, taking him completely by surprise. "Oh, I'm so glad I found you before you did anything stupid!"

"This wasn't part of the act," Atton muttered under his breath and trying to disentangle himself from the Twi'lek's embrace.

"Just go with it," Mission muttered back and then threw her arms around him all over again. "Please, Jaq! You don't know what you're doing. You have to come back! You have to or Goto will kill you!"

Atton, still half-smothered by Mission, looked over her shoulder to see if the scene she was causing was being noticed. The Inferno members at the bar had swiveled in their seats and Atton was positive they did it when Mission said the name "Goto." The Twi'lek began to wail and prostrate herself over Atton, and though her words were anything but subtle, her delivery was excellent and Atton was amazed at her talent.

"You can't leave Goto, Jaq!" Mission said again. "You can't! Even now, I know he's sent Hanhaar after you! I know it! That Wookie could be here any minute! Please, come back."

"I can't," Atton said, feeling _really _silly. "And shut up, will ya? If that walking carpet is after me, then the last thing I need is you shouting my name all over the place," he said, warming up a bit.

"I don't care! Maybe it will scare some sense into you!" Mission continued.

_She's a fantastic actor, _Atton thought idly. _I hope her audience is paying attention._

"Query: Shall I handle this blue meatbag for you, Master?" HK-47 offered.

Mission gave the droid a venomous glare. "Why don't you jump into an incinerator, you rusting pile of parts?"

_Okay, so that's not acting,_ Atton amended. "Settle down, now," he said aloud. "No need to get your _lekku _in a twist. I'm not going anywhere, so why don't you just calm down and have yourself a drink? We're celebrating my liberation, aren't we HK?"

"Jaq, you are making a big mistake. When Goto finds out you're gone, he's going to burn out your other eye."

"I said, shut up!" Atton hissed between his teeth. It was like putting on an old coat again—one he thought he had burned and buried a long time ago.

"I'm sorry!" Mission said, just as loud as before. "But I'm worried about you! With everything you know about Goto—"

Atton surprised Mission and himself by grabbing the Twi'lek none-too-gently around the throat to silence her. "Shut up! I said I'm not going back and that's that. You tell Goto I'm out." He released his hold on her neck and sat back in his chair. Mission swallowed hard and as she stood up. Her lower lip began to quiver and her eyes were shining.

"Well, that's just fine then. You go and get yourself killed! See if I care! You're a traitor!" Mission began shrieking again and Atton was shocked to see real tears streaming down her face. "I'll tell him you're out and you just see. You just wait and see if you don't wake up tomorrow with a vibroblade in your back!" Mission was backing away from Atton now, heading toward the door. "If you're _lucky_ it'll be in your back!" And then she covered her face with her hands and ran out of the cantina.

Atton was impressed, but he kept his face cold and uncaring.

"Statement: It worked," said the droid from behind him.

HK was right. Their little scene—no small thanks to Mission's talents—had paid off. A nondescript man in plain clothes sidled up to Atton's table and took a seat across from him at the Pazaak table. Atton decided that Mission had done her part, and now it was time to do his. He favored the man across from him with a crooked smile that didn't touch his eyes—or eye—at all.

"Women problems?" the stranger asked.

"You could say that. You wanna game?"

"No. I couldn't help but overhear your conversation," the man said dryly.

Atton snorted. "I'm sure the whole cantina overheard. That little bitch has a voice that could cut steel."

"You work for Goto?" the man asked bluntly.

HK-47 instantly leveled his carbine at the stranger—who appeared as though he was used to such things—but Atton held up a warding hand.

"I did. I don't anymore," Atton said and then took a gamble and made as if to leave. "And now if you'll excuse me…" Atton started to stand up and then, at the tiniest cue from the man in front of him, the Inferno thugs at the bar slipped off their stools and stood around the table, barring Atton from exit. Atton sat back in his chair casually and shook his head with a resigned, icy laugh. "I'm going to kill that Twi'lek."

HK-47 didn't take it as lightly and leveled his carbine again, his aim swiftly shifting from one thug to the other. The thugs, in turn, whipped out heavy blasters and suddenly Atton found himself sitting under a canopy of weaponry.

"Statement: Say the word, master," HK warned.

"Easy, easy," the stranger soothed. "Call off your pet droid and I'll call off my men, and we'll have a nice, friendly conversation."

"I'm not interested in friendly conversation," Atton said, secretly wondering if this was one of the men who had laid a hand on Dane. Rage boiled up, but he kept his face placid. _He's not the bastard with the map_, he reminded himself and motioned for HK-47 to lower his weapon.

The stranger, a wiry man of about thirty, smiled and ordered his men to do the same. "That's better. I'm Kellen," he said.

"Jaq," Atton said, grateful the man didn't proffer his hand to be shaken; Atton thought the bones in his own hand would probably shatter at the slightest pressure.

"All right, Jaq, why don't you tell me why you are no longer working for Goto?"

"Why don't you go blow a rocket up your ass?" Atton replied. "What's it to you?"

Kellen snickered and leaned across the table. "You're either really new here," he said and then he regarded Atton shrewdly, "or, you're playing some kind of game. Which is it, Jaq?"

Atton, imitating Kellen, leaned across the table as well. "I'm not some spacer fresh from the docks. I know you're Inferno, and your friends and my friends don't really get along quite so well, do they? So I ask again, what's it to you?"

Kellen raised an eyebrow. "Well your Twi'lek girlfriend seemed to think you're not going to have any more friends as soon as Goto finds out you've jumped ship. True?"

Atton shrugged. "He'll get over it."

"I doubt it," Kellen remarked. There was a silence as the two men stared each other down, broken only when Kellen leaned back in his chair and said, "I can't help but notice you have what appears to be a lightsaber in your belt. You a Jedi, Jaq?"

Atton laid his hand over his double-bladed weapon instinctively and then turned the protective motion into one of idleness. He stroked the handle and smiled coldly. "No, Kellen, as a matter of fact I'm not."

"Then why…?"

"It belonged to my last mark," Atton said, marveling at the hollowness of his own voice.

Kellen's eyes widened and a smile spread over his face. "Ahh, an assassin. A Jedi assassin no less. I knew there was a reason why I didn't just have my men kill you the moment I heard you worked for Goto."

HK-47 didn't take kindly to that statement either and down came the carbine again, leveled this time at Kellen. On cue, the two thugs, still standing, whipped out their blasters and the standoff started anew.

"You were right, Jaq, when you said my friends and your friends don't get along," Kellen continued as if nothing was amiss. "My boss and your boss—or should I say, you're _former_ boss—don't get along so well either."

"I'm aware," Atton muttered.

The droid and the Inferno members lowered their weapons slowly but the two men at the table hardly noticed.

"Yes, and you may also be aware, that my boss is something of an opportunist."

"Do you have a point?" Atton asked and reached into his jacket for a cigarra. Atton doesn't smoke but Jaq did. He lit it with an effort, masking the pain that lanced through his hand even with that small motion and was again thankful that HK-47 was behind him.

"Why, yes, I do," Kellen said. "You see, my job is to act on my boss's behalf. I have to look out for his best interests; try to think along the same lines he does. He's an opportunist, as I said, and so therefore when I stumble across a Jedi assassin who has defected from my boss's number one enemy, I have to think to myself that there is an opportunity here somewhere. Of course, if you're full of shit, then I'll simply have to kill you. It's what my boss would do," he added with a smile that didn't touch his eyes in the slightest. .

"Impatient Query: Master…?"

"Put down the gun," Atton ordered the droid. He took a drag off his cigarra and peered at Kellen through the smoke. "Opportunity, eh?"

Kellen held up his hands. "I can see one, yes."

"You offering me a job?" Atton asked. _It cannot be this easy. The bantha poo-doo is gonna hit the fan any second now, I know it. _But the poo-doo did not hit the fan. Atton was having one of those nights where—had he been playing Pazaak—he couldn't have lost if he tried.

Kellen's smile widened. "Perhaps. My boss, I don't mind telling you, would love to have a chat with you about…loyalties. See, if you're not full of shit, Jaq—and I'm going to have to do some research on that point—then there is potential for you with the Inferno."

Atton snorted. "What makes you think I want to work for the Inferno?"

Kellen's smile vanished. "At this point it doesn't really matter what you want or don't want. If, after I finish my research on you, I find that you are legit, then I'd like you and my boss to have a chat."

"Who says I want to work for your boss?" Atton inquired casually.

"And who says he'll offer you anything?" Kellen countered. "I said you two would have a chat. See, he's going to want to know what you know about Goto's business. If you're lucky and he likes you and you're cooperative, maybe he'll offer you a job. If you're not cooperative and you piss him off, he'll likely tear your fingers off and feed them to his kath hounds one by one until you tell him what he wants to know."

HK shifted behind Atton at the threat but Atton hardly noticed. _Not as a prisoner. Don't get inside as a prisoner or the whole thing will be pointless, _he warned himself. Atton affected a shrewd smile and took a deep drag off his cigarra. "Kellen, you seem like a smart man," he said. "I'd like to make a little confession."

"I'm listening."

"You see, my girlfriend, the Twi'lek of earlier, is high-strung and emotional. She regularly causes scenes nearly everywhere I take her. She's not a bad person, she's just very…passionate about things. So why do you think I chose a Pazaak table not three paces away from two members of the Inferno on the same night I tell her I'm quitting Goto? I couldn't have anticipated the scene she would make even if I had planned it," Atton said and heard HK-47 titter behind him, "but I will admit, I wasn't exactly sorry she did it."

Kellen narrowed his eyes. "There are more direct ways of getting our attention, you know."

Atton smiled and stubbed out his cigarra. "Yeah, but this way is much more fun."

Kellen laughed and reached across the table to thump Atton on the shoulder. "I like you Jaq. I'm going to do my research on you, see what I can dig up," he said, rising to his feet, "and if I like what I hear, you and my boss will have your chat. After that, who knows?"

He extended his hand and Atton clenched his jaw against the pain of the older man's handshake. "Don't be going anywhere now, Jaq," Kellen said. "I'll meet you here tomorrow night, same time. I'll have you watched so if you try to run back to Goto—or anywhere else for that matter—you'll be doing so on shattered kneecaps, to say the least. Have a good night, now, you hear?" And then he was gone.

"Irritated Observation: If there was ever a meatbag that deserved extermination, it is he," HK complained. "Whining Query: Why didn't you let me do my job? I had a clear shot on several occasions."

Atton let out a slow, shaky breath and massaged his hand. "I know and I agree, HK, but you know what? It worked. Our plan _worked. _So far," he added. "We just have to be patient."_ Hold on babe, I'm coming,_ he thought and added a prayer that Dane was still alive to hear it.

"Query: What is it we are to do now? Irritated Presumption: We are to wait until that odious man returns and play nice with him and not kill one single, solitary meatbag in the meantime. Correct?"

"Correct," Atton said, rising to his feet. "We have to hope Kellen's 'research' involves talking to Vogga."

"Query: And what makes you so certain that meatbag will go to the hutt?"

"I'm not certain at all, but Vogga's the only other Exchange boss with any clout around here. And if Kellen does any serious research, he just might dig up that I wasn't lying about being a Jedi killer."

"Approving Statement: Why, Master Jaq, I didn't realize…"

"Yeah, yeah, well its not-so-ancient history," Atton muttered. "Now, come on. We have to tell Mission what happened and then get her somewhere safe. She's helped enough and I'm not going to risk her or the Wookie any more. As far as I'm concerned, we're on our own, HK."

"Resigned Submission: Very well," the droid said as the two left the cantina. "But if I don't get the opportunity initiate my core programming protocols soon…"

"I know it," Atton said, as the pair stepped out into the cool night air of Nar Shaddaa. "You will, HK, I promise. Very soon, you will…"

* * *

Mission paced the apartments, chewing her bottom lip. It had been two hours since she had left the cantina after her big scene and the wait to see if their plan had begun to work was gnawing at her. Zaalbar was at his customary post, at the door.

"_What happens now?"_ the Wookie asked. His role was as the deceased bounty hunter, Hanhaar, but the Inferno had jumped on the bait so quickly, his acting services had not been needed.

"We wait, I guess," Mission grumbled. "I hate waiting. I'm going for a walk."

"_I don't think that's a good idea,_" growled Zaalbar.

"Maybe not, but I can't stay here. I'm worried about him, Big Z. What if something terrible happened after I left? I have to know if he's okay."

"_I'm coming with you,_" Zaalbar stated.

Mission was about to protest that it wouldn't be seemly for her to be seen with him, but one look at his determined face and she knew she wasn't going to get out the door unless she agreed. "All right, fine, but if any Inferno thugs show up, your name is Hanhaar and we're not best friends, you know?"

The Wookie grumbled his assent and the two left the apartments.

Mission took main avenues instead of side streets and alleys, keeping to the well-lit walkways. It wasn't terribly late but the streets were relatively empty. Mission kept an eye out for trouble and any sign of orange-flame insignias. Zaalbar trudged a few paces behind her, his bowcaster in hand. They were still a good distance away from the cantina where she had left Atton, when two black-clad men in the Inferno uniform stepped out of the shadows and accosted her.

"Where you off to, little one?" drawled one of the men.

Mission opened her mouth to speak when the unmistakable sound of Zaalbar's bowcaster firing came from behind her. She turned in time to see a third Inferno member go down at the Wookie's feet. _This is not good,_ she thought. The man who had spoken made a furtive motion with his hand and six or seven other figures loomed out of the darkness and surrounded the pair. In the light of the street lamps, Mission saw a variety of weapons aimed at her and Zaalbar.

"Um, Big—uh, Hanhaar?" Mission backed up until she was back to back with the Wookie.

"Shut up!" hissed the first man who had spoken. "Your pet Wookie killed one of my men. Kellen gave me orders to have you watched, but I think he wouldn't mind if I brought him your heads instead. He can put them in his office and watch them all day long."

There was some low grunts Mission took as laughter from the men ringed around her and Zaalbar. She drew her vibroblade and held it clenched in both hands but she knew it was hopeless. "I'm sorry, Big Z," she whispered. "You were right…as usual."

"_I always knew I would die defending you,_" he said.

Mission felt hot tears sting her eyes. "Really? That is so sweet—"

"Shut up, Twi'lek." The man made another gesture and six different blasters were aimed at them. But in the split second between the men aiming and firing, a dark-robed shape landed with a soft thud beside Mission. The Twi'lek heard the unmistakable sound of a lightsaber being ignited, a flash of blue light and then a flurry of motion. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting to feel the blaster fire rip through her. Instead, she heard a whooshing sound, one blaster shot, and then the groans of dying men, all woven together by the whirring hum of a slashing lightsaber.

It was over in a few seconds and Mission peeped one eye open. She saw the dark-robed figure, slender and graceful, standing over the dead, a blue-bladed lightsaber in his hand. The hooded figure turned toward her and the glow of his blade lit the interior of his cowl for a moment, revealing a strikingly good-looking young man.

"Mission Vao? Is that you?" the man asked, and chuckled as though he hadn't just fought seven men to the death. "Master Juhani didn't mention anything about finding you, but I guess I'm just that good."

"Who--?" Mission's brain had not yet caught up with reality. She had thought she was going to die and the fact that she did not hadn't quite registered.

"Don't you remember me? From Korriban?" The man flipped a switch on his lightsaber and the blue blade retracted. He tucked it into the belt of his robes and pulled down the hood of his cloak. He was indeed young, perhaps in his early twenties, and exceedingly handsome. He wore a cocky smile and every gesture smacked of self-confidence and aplomb. He also looked vaguely familiar. He had large, intelligent eyes and dark hair cut short and neat. Mission noticed that a lock of his hair fell out of place, over his forehead, just like—

"I know we met only briefly, but it's me—" He interrupted his own introduction and cocked his head, listening to the silent street. "Hey, you know what? We probably should get moving," he said after a moment. "It's not safe," he added, though Mission felt not one particle of fear or apprehension from the man.

"Uh, sure," Mission agreed. _What in the Force is going on around here? First the _Hawk _and now… _

But he was right, it wasn't safe to linger near the bodies of seven dead Inferno members. Mission didn't even want to think about the ramifications this little incident might have to Atton's plans, but there was no time to ponder it now—she was too busy being led off the streets of Nar Shaddaa on the arm of Dustil Onasi.


	16. Affliction

Chapter 16

Affliction

It was over within minutes. Dane, breathing heavily, stood over the dead man's body. There was silence for a moment and then the sound of one man clapping his hands.

"Now that was bloody impressive, peach!" Raff O'Bannon exclaimed. He was sitting in a plush chair on the outskirts of the Ring, which was no more than a rounded room lined with weapons and old blood staining the floor. Guards in black uniforms sat on crates or the floor here and there, watching with amusement. To one side of the Ring were the other prisoners, some sparring, some watching the match. Dane was acutely aware of their presence, and the presence of Macen, standing off to one side, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her. On either side of Raff were two guards and the Mandalorian, Garn, taking in everything with his stony eyes. "Have you nothing to say? No victory speech?" Raff coaxed. He had a cigarra in one hand and a flask of something else in the other.

Dane was silent. The man dead at her feet was a fellow prisoner. She hadn't wanted to kill him but had been forced to fight him. It had been hand to hand combat—no weapons—but the rage and pain at the death of Atton had given her new strength…the man never had a chance.

"Come on, now peach! Don't be like that! So yer bloke is dead. No need to take it out on me poor men," Raff snickered. "Oy! Zerzos!" he barked suddenly. "Get the peach a new opponent and a weapon. Blades this time."

Zerzos, the weapons master and a Trandoshan, obliged by yanking another prisoner forward. He made to give both opponents long swords, but Raff had other ideas.

"No, no, no, you stupid bloody mutt. Give that old rusted piece of shite of a sword to the peach and a vibroblade to her new victim." Raff looked at Dane and smiled a smile to make her stomach churn. "Y'see the faith I have in yer abilities, me peach? Don't let me down now; you and I have business to attend to after this one." Raff took a swig off his flask and winked at her.

Dane closed her eyes and until she felt Zerzos press the long sword into her palm. The Trandoshan gave her a rough shove away from the dead man at her feet so his men could remove the body and prepare for the next bout. She had half a mind to run the weapons master through with the sword but she had gone numb again at the sight of the dead man being lifted and taken away. _Where is Atton's body? Did they leave him on the street? Did someone carry him away like they are carrying this man away? _The thoughts seemed to ignite her body to action for when her newest opponent stood before her—gleaming vibroblade in his hand—she did not hesitate.

The swords clashed as Dane came on in a flurry of slashing attacks. The prisoner countered each one and for a moment they were locked together, blades pressed against one another. Her opponent was older, perhaps fifty, and looked as though he had seen many battles. "I don't want to kill you," he said, "but I have no choice. Rules of the ring."

"I don't want to kill you, either," Dane replied, "but I'm going to."

The man's eyes widened with something close to fear and he thrust her away from him. Not a second later, she was rushing at him again, long sword swinging in deadly arcs. The man countered again and then found an opening for his own attack. He narrowly missed slicing her ear off; Dane felt the hum of the vibroblade whiz past her head and she curled into a ball and rolled out of danger. The man was there, waiting for her to come out of the roll and straight into the arc of his blade. Dane, with effort, reversed her momentum and feinted to the other direction, at the same time driving her sword up and into the exposed midsection of her opponent. The blade bit deep and Dane's hand was awash with blood.

Her opponent staggered a few paces away, taking the long sword with him, and collapsed. Dane, still kneeling on the floor, watched until his breathing ceased. A howl of grief welled up in her at what she had done, but Raff's chilling voice broke in.

"My, my, my. I really love your work, peach. Really, fantastic." He was clapping again and cajoled the others in the room to join in. "Come on now, you stinking piles o' shite. Let's hear it for the little angel. She is going through some rather difficult times now, and needs our support, don't you, love? First we murder her bloke and then my little toad takes away the Force. It's been a long week for the peach, hasn't it? _Hasn't it? _I can't hear you, you bloody arses!"

The guards in the room joined Raff in half-heartedly applauding Dane, all but for Garn who moved not at all. Dane sat down on the floor, willing the whole nightmare to just end. Her eyes strayed to the side of the Ring where Macen stood. He gave her the smallest of smiles and held up his hand. Dane found comfort in those small gestures for she could almost hear his low, gravely voice saying, "I know." Unfortunately, Dane wasn't the only one who saw Macen's acknowledgement.

Raff O'Bannon gave out a low whistle. "Well, well, well, just what in the bloody shite do we have goin' on here?" He rose from his chair and pointed his cigarra at Macen. "You. Come here."

Dane's heart thudded dully in her chest as Macen stepped forward, into the Ring.

"Stand up," Raff ordered Dane. She did so, standing side by side with Macen. The crimelord's dead blue eyes went between them in turn, and his voice, when he spoke, was of that dangerous quality Dane had come to fear. "Just what are we all about, hmm? Are you two…?" Raff made a vulgar gesture with his hands. "Eh? _Answer me!"_ he raged and flicked his lit cigarra at Macen. It struck the man in the cheek. Macen flinched as the cigarra burned him and then stood still again, meeting Raff's glare unflinchingly. "I swear on me dead mother's grave if you've sullied my peach before I've had the chance to meself, I'll rip yer throat out."

"No, boss," Macen said in his low voice.

Raff's fury abated with the same frightening speed in which it had come, and he smiled broadly. "Bet you want to, though, eh?" he said lecherously and laughed. He resumed his seat in the plush chair that was very much out of place in the rough and bare room of the Ring. "Well, Macen, I've always liked you best. You want to know why?"

"Why, boss?"

"Because you're a bloody good killer, that's why."

Dane felt Macen stiffen beside her. He hated it, she knew, being forced to kill for that bastard's pleasure, but he had no choice, and his skill was the only reason he was there, standing beside her.

"So I'll tell you what I'm gonna do," Raff continued, lighting another cigarra. "Me and the peach have a date right after this whole affair has come to its grim and final conclusion. She needs a shoulder to cry on and I think I'm just the man to take the place of her old bloke Garn here put an end to."

Now it was Dane's turn to stiffen at Raff's words, but she said nothing.

"However," Raff continued, "I get the sense—call me crazy—but I get the sense that she doesn't care for me all too much. Am I right, peach?"

Dane remained silent but nodded her head once, slowly.

"And I further get the sense that she is not going to enjoy our date nearly as much as I will. Am I right on that too? Eh? So here is what I propose. I propose that you, Macen, my pride and joy of the prisoner scum, fight my little peach to the death. If ye win, ye spare her the festivities I have planned for her. If you lose, well, then…it's been bloody nice knowing ye." Raff's eyes gleamed and he suddenly laughed that dead laugh of his.

"Now some o' me blokes here—" he continued, and indicated the guards and Garn standing behind him, "—might get the idea that it is a losing proposition, for they know ole Macen and they know he will do the gentlemanly thing and put the little peach out of her misery and _pbblt!_ No date for me. But I know better, oh yes, I do. I know you Macen. I know you won't kill her. You can't. You fancy her, and who can blame ye? So now you are left in quite a quandary, aren't ye? What to do, what to do? Do you kill her and spare her my company or die on the end of her blade? And what does my little angel do? Be killed? Or fight to the death, knowing her reward is somewhere down me pants? Yes, the entertainment of such a predicament is worth its bloody weight in gold."

"Weapons, boss?" grunted the Trandoshan.

"Vibroblades for both of them," Raff said.

Dane and Macen were each given a weapon and then left alone in the Ring.

There was a moment of silence as Raff leaned back in his chair, a wild, manic look in his eye, and then he said in a low, whispery voice, "Begin."

"I'm not going to fight you," Macen said instantly, though Dane noticed he did not drop his blade.

"I'm not going to fight you, either," she replied.

"How bloody touching," Raff put in. "I forgot to mention that if you saps are going to try to pull that shite on me, you'll both be killed _right here and now so GET GOING!"_

Dane and Macen, slowly, reluctantly, began circling one another.

"Just do it, Dane. It's all right, I promise you," Macen said quietly. "_You'll_ be all right."

Dane shook her head. "No, I'm really not going to be all right," she said and tears, for the first time since she knew Atton was dead, stung her eyes.

"You have other things to do," Macen returned. "Things beyond this shit hole of ship. Your end isn't here. I know it."

"_Where's the bloody fighting?"_ Raff raged from his chair.

They were both warriors and their instincts to survive were not relinquished so easily. Dane knew this and so she flew at Macen, vibroblade swinging, though her strikes were weak and much slower than she was capable. Instinctively, Macen parried every thrust and shoved Dane away from him so that they resumed their wary circling.

"Dammit, don't do this!" Macen hissed. "You won't trick me into killing you," he spat.

Dane had lost all control of her emotions. In one moment she was willing to die and now she wanted to kill. "Bastard!" she cried, the tears flowing now. All the rage and pain she had been bearing came to the fore and she suddenly struck at Macen in a flurry, putting all her strength and skill behind every arc of her blade.

Macen was taken aback by the sudden ferocity of her attack, though he countered every strike. She drove him back, her tears half-blinding her, but she could see he was trying to find the will to let her sword bite home. The torn look in his eyes, the unwillingness to let life go played over his face and she hated herself for fighting him, but she could not stop. _Is this the Dark Side? It must be because I feel as though I am falling…_

"Fight me!" she screamed, unrelenting in her attacks. But Macen only parried and countered until Raff O'Bannon's voice filtered into her world, ordering them to stop. Dane and Macen stood, breathless, facing one another, unable to look anywhere else.

"As enchanting as this is," Raff said, rising quickly to his feet, "it has come to my attention that I have some new business to attend to. We'll carry on later. Take five, everyone," he said with a chuckle and then left the Ring, Garn in tow.

With Raff's sudden departure, the urgent energy of the room dwindled and the on-lookers, guards and prisoner alike, went back to their business; the guards watching as the prisoners sparred for exercise. Dane and Macen were left alone.

The vibroblade fell from her nerveless fingers and she slumped to her knees, sobbing into her hands. She felt Macen kneel beside her and suddenly she was in his arms, clutching him tightly, her face pressed into his tunic. His strong arms went around her and held her to him for long moments.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, wiping her eyes and taking long, steadying breaths. "I'm so sorry."

"Sshh," he admonished and tilted her tear-streaked face up to his. "You got nothing to be sorry for unless you give up."

Something in the simplicity of his words struck Dane. She managed a smile and said in a cracked and broken voice, "That sounds like something an old friend of mine might have said to me, if he were here."

Macen raised his eyebrows. "Old _friend, _eh?" he murmured, as though to himself and then helped her to stand. He glanced around at the guards but none of them seemed to have an interest in the two of them in the middle of the Ring. Nonetheless, Macen led her to a secluded part of the room, less conspicuous, and said, "Dane, I'm not much use to you, I know. I can't protect you from that bastard and dammit, I should have at least tried when I had the blade in my hand, but—"

"It's all right, Macen," Dane said softly.

"No, it's not," the man replied. He gripped Dane by the arms and his regarded her intently. "I'm not going to fight you again. If he kills me for it, then so be it."

Dane nodded. "Me too. I promise." Macen didn't let go of her arms, but was drawing her closer to him. He was so handsome and kind, if a little rough around the edges, and he was the only reason she hadn't completely fallen apart on this hated barge. But Dane's heart had been deadened by that Mandalorian who had killed Atton and she could not—_would_ not—open it to another.

"And I don't want to remind you of old friends," Macen was saying. "Dane, I know this is probably too soon and it isn't the right time and it sure as hell isn't the right place, but…"

"No, Macen," Dane said and gently withdrew herself from his grip. "Not now. I can't. I just…can't. And if you knew what a compliment it is that you remind me of Bao-Dur…" Her words trailed away as fresh tears came to her eyes. She swallowed hard and took a steadying breath. "Just…be my friend now. Please. I need that."

Macen nodded as though thinking hard over the matter. Then he smiled tightly and said, "Yeah, okay." There was a silence and then he asked, "You loved that….Atton, was it?"

Dane nodded. "Yes, very much," she said, fighting back yet another wave of grief.

Macen took that in and then said, "He was a lucky guy, Dane. I never knew him, of course, but I have the feeling he wouldn't want you to stop fighting on his account. I know I wouldn't if the situation had been different and it was me…" Macen cleared his throat.

Dane only nodded.

"Good," Macen said gruffly, as if they had settled some long-standing dispute. "Now, come on. We're going to spar. You got plenty of talent but I want to teach you a trick or two. If that bastard O'Bannon tries anything on you, you're going to leave him wishing he'd been born a girl…"

* * *

"This had better be good," Raff muttered to the man who had called him away from the Ring. He and Garn were being led down the corridors of the _Affliction_, heading deep into the bowels of the ship where the comm-center lay.

"You're going to want to hear this, boss," the man replied over his shoulder as they walked.

"You'd better hope yer right, or I'll have Garn, here, slice off your hand and make you wear it as a hat."

The Mandalorian nodded once and the man quickly turned away and began walking faster.

Garn was slightly disappointed that there would be no bloodshed between the Jedi woman and Macen Vorn. Garn wouldn't have minded seeing "the peach" make hash out of the man. Macen, in his opinion, had stayed alive much too long for his liking.

Garn was Raff O'Bannon's chief deputy in all things. Raff wanted a man killed, Garn killed him. Raff wanted a new girl for the harem, Garn took her. And if Raff wanted the Jedi who killed his most profitable hutt, Garn went and found her. But Garn always considered himself to be Raff's bodyguard above all else, and his primary function was to keep his boss out of danger. He was good at his job because he didn't wait until aproblem came to him, but was constantly on the lookout for it. Anyone he suspected of being a potential threat met a grim and merciless death. Except for Macen. Raff liked Macen and so had stayed his execution from Garn on a number of occasions. That made Garn angry because there was something about the man he didn't trust. _It'll come to a bad end with Vorn,_ he thought for the thousandth time.

They arrived at the communications center and the Inferno member who had led them there hurriedly set up a comm-link between Raff and another confederate down on the moon. Garn noticed the man's hands trembled slightly as he handed his boss the communicator.

"What in the bloody hell is it?" Raff barked into the piece.

"It's Kellen, boss," the voice crackled from down on Nar Shaddaa's surface. Garn blinked, which was the equivalent of another man frowning. He didn't like Kellen either, but found him stupid and careless.

"I think I found someone you're gonna want to meet."

"Oh, ye think so, do ye? What the shite for?"

"He's an assassin, boss. Used to work for Goto."

There was a pause as Raff considered this. Garn knew his boss long enough to read Raff's facial expressions, even when they didn't possess the slightest similarity to his actual thoughts. The darkening of his eyes belied his curiosity and when he snarled at Kellen to elaborate, Garn knew his boss was happy—or as close to it as he'd ever get.

"His name is Jaq. Just last night, he defected from Goto. Might want to work for the Inferno. I checked him out—Vogga knows him. Says he has a bounty on Jaq's head for killing one of his best mercs."

Garn was instantly wary. _Something's not right about this. No one's heard a word out of Goto for a month—not after some Jedi killed every one of his best assassins and he supposedly disappeared. Jedi…Like the peach. She killed Dibbuk…_Garn's thinking wasn't leading him to anything concrete but he hadn't survived the kind of life he led for nearly forty-five years by ignoring his instincts.

"Boss, let me go check this guy out," he offered to Raff but his boss waved a dismissive hand at him.

"Do ye think, Kellen, that this Jaq may have some secrets of the trade he'd be willing to share with little ole me?"

"I think so, boss. And if he doesn't…"

"If he doesn't, I'll sick the Duros on him," Raff finished and chuckled. "Bring him up. I want to meet the bastard. Tonight!" He slammed the comm-link on a table, breaking it into pieces. He swore once or twice, threatened at least six men in the comm-center with grisly torture, and then stormed out of the room. Yes, he was in a fantastic mood.

Garn could only follow as his boss exited the room for his chambers, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Impulsiveness was his least favorite characteristic. Garn had made an art of repressing anything remotely resembling emotion and his boss's tendency to give in to each and every whim, each and every time he had one, was Garn's greatest boon. _This will be bad. I can feel it. _And Garn wasn't thinking just about Raff O'Bannon's safety. He had lied to his boss about killing the man who was with the Jedi and now Garn, ever on the look out for trouble, thought he may have just invited a whole heap of it to bite him in the ass.


	17. Is the Enemy of my Enemy my Friend?

"Tell me again who he is?" Atton grumbled. His little rescue party had taken up a few rooms in a seedy motel not far from the cantina where he was to meet Kellen but far enough away to—hopefully—avoid detection by the Inferno that was watching him. He was leaning up against the wall, (and it was the only thing holding him up, he thought, he was so tired), with his arms crossed and the hated eye patch dangling from his good hand. HK-47, who had fully taken on his role as Atton's bodyguard, was beside him. Mission sat on the room's only chair and Zaalbar was at his usual post, by the door. "The kid," as Atton thought of him, was resting casually against the window, as far away from Atton as he could possibly get and still be in the same room. The two had instantly taken an aversion to each other; Atton didn't like him—Jedi or not—and Dustil didn't like not being liked.

"For the last time, he's Carth Onasi's son," Mission said, rolling her eyes. "_Admiral _Onasi? Of the Republican fleet?"

The name meant nothing to Atton and the title even less. Republican soldiers, especially high-ranking ones, had never done him any favors during his smuggling years.

"And tell me again what he is doing here?" Atton asked. There were too many people in the room; he just wanted to lay down and go to sleep for about fifteen hours. But it was late in the afternoon—he had only a few hours before his next meeting with Kellen. There would be no long sleep for him now. _Just a little nap, for crying out loud,_ he thought. But now he had the kid to contend with. Not to mention seven dead Inferno members.

"What I'm doing here," Dustil said with a lazy smile, "is finding your Jedi friend. I have a message for her. Rescuing Mission and Zaalbar from almost certain death was just a happy coincidence."

Atton watched as the kid and Mission shared a private look and it was his turn to roll his eyes. "What message? From who?" _Gods, I'm exhausted. _

"From Master Juhani. There's going to be a Jedi council meeting on Dantooine. If all goes as planned, Master Shan will convene it and Master Juhani's padawan thinks it would be wise to have Dane attend. She _should _attend, seeing as she's a Jedi Master."

Atton didn't like the sound of that. Jedi councils meant disapproving Jedi Masters who would likely want to kick Dane out again if they knew about her and Atton. _But it's all moot unless I can get to Raff O'Bannon,_ Atton thought miserably.

"Bastila?" Mission was exclaiming. "Really? She's a master now? And Juhani too? Not that I'm surprised, really."

Dustil favored her with a broad smile. "Yeah, Juhani took me on as her padawan last year and Bastila's been working with Dad on all sorts of stuff."

"Really?" Mission squealed. "How _is_ Carth? Gosh, I haven't seen him or Bastila in _ages_."

"He's doing well…considering," Dustil's handsome face darkened for a brief moment, then he turned on that smile again. "I'm sure he'd love to see you again. Him and Bastila both."

"I would love that! I –"

"Excuse me," Atton cut in. He was starting to get a headache. "Can we please stick to the problem at hand? _Problems_, I should say—specifically the seven dead ones you left out on the street. That could throw a wrench into our already less-than-foolproof plan, to say the least."

Mission pouted and crossed her arms. "Well, what was Dustil supposed to do? Let us _die_?"

Atton sighed and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Don't be ridiculous. I just—"

"Hey, man," Dustil said in a conciliatory tone, "Mission told me all about the predicament with Master Koren. I want to help—it's my _duty_ to help, in any way I can."

Atton peered at the kid, giving him a once-over. He wasn't _that_ young, but younger than Atton. He wore a lightsaber at his belt and carried himself as though he knew how to use it. He had taken on seven blaster-wielding Exchange thugs and Mission and Zaalbar hadn't a scratch on them. Atton sighed again. _Not like we couldn't use all the help we can get. _

"All right, well you can start by keeping to the situation at hand. I don't know about any Jedi council meeting and I really don't care. I just want to get Dane back safe, all right?"

Dustil nodded slowly and said, "Sure thing, man," with a knowing smile.

Atton glanced at him sharply. _I am not about to start watching my words around some Jedi-in-training. I don't give a damn who knows about me and Dane…_

The kid must've read his expression because he said, "Don't worry. Mission explained everything to me. I know she means a lot to you. We'll get her back, I promise."

Atton's gaze went to Mission who flinched and smiled apologetically. "I couldn't talk about our plan to rescue her without talking about you…and her…and you and her…"

"There is no 'me and her' if we stand around wasting time like this," Atton muttered.

"Statement: I couldn't agree more," HK-47 put in.

"Now, what are we going to do about the dead Inferno members?" Atton asked tiredly.

"Why do we have to do anything?" Mission asked. "Dustil killed them all," she said with obvious admiration. "There's no one left to talk about it."

"Yeah, Dustil killed them all," Atton retorted, "with a _lightsaber._ Kellen sent those guys to watch you. They end up dead of lightsaber burns. If I were him I'd think that was a little odd. Hell, the fact they're dead at all when they were supposed to be watching you is not exactly optimal either."

"Observation: Or he may suspect you. It is obvious you carry a lightsaber, Master Jaq," the droid said. "The meatbag Kellen may assume you killed them."

"There's a cheery thought," Atton muttered. His headache cranked up a notch.

"I suggest you say nothing about it," Dustil put in. "There's no proof you had anything to do with it. In fact, you _didn't _have anything to do with it, so…?" he shrugged in a distinctly youthful, carefree manner.

Atton snorted. "It doesn't matter what I say or don't---you know what? Forget it. It doesn't matter_ at all_. If Kellen suspects me, I'll deal with it then. No sense worrying about it now. Okay, so that's settled. Nothing has changed, the plan is the same, this has been a colossal waste of time and I'm real tired, so if you all wouldn't mind—"

Atton had been about to usher the lot of them out of his room and into their own when there came a soft knock on the door. Everyone froze. Zaalbar slowly raised his bowcaster and cocked his head, listening intently. The knock came again, soft, but more insistent. Atton and HK-47 drew their weapons and aimed them at the door. Dustil's hand rested lightly over his lightsaber.

"Who is it?" Atton barked.

"A friend," came the answer behind the door. It was a woman's voice and everyone in the room exchanged shrugs; she didn't sound familiar.

"What do you want?" Atton asked, the hand gripping his blaster began aching in rhythm with his head.

"To come in, of course," said the woman in a distinctly irritated manner. "I work for Vogga," she added in a whisper so low that Atton barely heard her.

Atton hesitated a moment and then nodded for Zaalbar to activate the door. Atton leveled his blaster and heard HK do the same beside him while the Wookie punched the doorknob. It slid open to reveal a petite, pretty blond woman in her late twenties. She was a little thing, all coiled muscle and lively energy. She had scar that ran from the outside corner of her left eye all the way down to her chin and Atton was reminded suddenly of a stray alley cat. She was dressed in usual roguish attire and had two barely concealed blasters at her slender waist. She didn't seem taken aback by the weapons leveled at her, but regarded the group in the room with cool blue eyes.

"I take it you're Atton?" she said, taking a step inside and lighting a cigarra as if she owned the place. Zaalbar slid the door shut behind her.

"Who are you?" Atton countered, still holding his blaster though his hand was screaming now.

"I'm Leigh. Vogga sent me. He's got a proposition for you that he thinks you may like." Leigh narrowed her eyes over the smoke of her cigarra. You gonna hold that blaster at me the whole time we talk? 'Cause I got a lot to say and your arm's gonna get tired."

Atton hesitated a moment more and then lowered his weapon. He motioned for HK-47 and Zaalbar to do the same.

"Some Inferno members came to see Vogga this morning. They were asking about you."

"Good. That was the plan. At least, it's good if Vogga did his part."

Leigh took a drag from her cigarra and blew the smoke out through her nose. "He almost didn't," she said. "He was woken up from his mid-morning nap and he can be a little out of it after one of those. But, apparently you and your friends helped him once before and Vogga likes to pay his debts."

_I can't believe it. We may just pull this off yet, _Atton thought. He offered a weak smile. "Can I bum one of those?" he asked. _Just what I need, a new bad habit,_ but he was too tired to care just then.

Leigh obliged, provided a light, and then glanced about the room. Mission was still on her chair, wrinkling her nose at all the smoke and regarding Leigh through narrowed eyes. Dustil leaned against the windowsill in an apparent pose of relaxation, but Atton was sure the kid was ready to spring at the slightest sign of danger.

"Anyway, my boss did his part in whatever plot you've got going on and he did it well. The Inferno bastard left thinking you held the secrets of the damn universe when it came to Goto. Now," Leigh shrugged, "he figures you owe him."

_I knew there had to be a catch,_ Atton thought but didn't say it aloud. Atton three days ago would have choked on his cigarra smoke and blustered and protested about how the hutt could possibly think he was owed anything more, and that as far as he was concerned the score had been settled. But the Atton standing in the motel room now, a fake contact lens over one eye, a screaming headache and a miserable hand, only sighed.

"Of course," he said. "What does he want?"  
Leigh smiled a crooked smile. "He wants Raff O'Bannon dead."

"Don't we all," Atton muttered.

"Raff O'Bannon's a real bastard. Been hogging all the business around Nar Shaddaa and several other systems besides lately. Has his hands in everything from slaving to spice. Rumor has it he's off to Manaan after he's done with his spice dealing here. Kolto's a big money maker and O'Bannon's slowly been worming his way into that too. Goto's been quiet. Real quiet. Maybe you know why, maybe not," Leigh shrugged, "but he's still a threat. At least O'Bannon thinks he is. He wants to be the next Davik Kang and thinks getting rid of Goto is a step in that direction. Vogga doesn't want another Davik Kang. Vogga doesn't want a Raff O'Bannon either, so…?" Leigh shrugged again. "My boss may look slow but he's not stupid. After he pulled a number on that Inferno guy he came up with a plan to kill O'Bannon. A damn good one too, but it involves you and your friends," Leigh gestured around the room.

"I'm listening," Atton said.

"You want to get in to see O'Bannon, right? But you can't because he's up on that ship of his, in orbit around Nar Shaddaa, right?"  
Atton and Mission exchanged glances. "No, I hadn't known that." Atton's headache started to recede for now he at least had an idea of where he would go to find Dane and a small flicker of hope came to life.  
"That's O'Bannon's style. He hangs out on his that big ole barge of his and has smaller transports smuggle the goods to him. It's easier to get around the space port officials in a bunch of false ID coded little ships than one big, recognizable one. He's got so many coming and going the port authorities don't know who's who. But anyway, because my boss did such a good job for you, you're likely to get an invite onto that big ole barge. Only you won't be alone."

"I'll have HK-47 with me," Atton began. Leigh raised one sharply arched eyebrow. "What else did you have in mind?" Atton asked.

Leigh stubbed her cigarra out on the heel of her boot. She smiled a roguish grin and said, "Plenty. You got a T-3 unit?"

"Yeah."

"Vogga thought you might. Here's what we do…"

* * *

Three hours later Atton was back in the cantina, sitting at the same Pazaak table as the night previous. The eye patch was back on, he still hadn't had any sleep, and his mood was thoroughly fouled. Plus, his shin was smarting from where Mission had kicked him. She hadn't taken too kindly to him grabbing her throat in the cantina and had paid him back with a swift boot to the shin after their meeting was over and Leigh had left. Atton had noticed a change in the Twi'lek in that the eyes she used to make at him were now reserved for Dustil. He didn't mind, far from it, but he didn't need the added discomfort either. He tried to look on the bright side: Thanks to Vogga and his emissary, Leigh, he now had a much better plan for rescuing Dane. _If she's still alive,_ came a sour thought. He pushed it away and took a draught of his caffa. He had dumped a fair amount of whiskey into it to keep up appearances, but the caffa was most definitely needed.

"Any sign of Kellen?" he muttered to HK-47 behind him.

"Response: No, Master Jaq."

Surreptitiously Atton raised his hand to his face as though to stifle a yawn. "You read me, kid?" he muttered into the comm-link tucked up his sleeve.

"Sure do," came the jaunty, but quiet reply. "All's set on our end here. Leigh's spies have even determined which freighter you're going up in. Vogga's guys are ready now."

"Great, but I'm not up yet. End all transmissions until you hear from me, you got it?"

"Got it," Dustil replied. "Good luck."

Atton snorted and muttered to himself, shooing away a potential Pazaak opponent. He didn't know why he was in such a bad humor but it suited 'Jaq.' It also fortified the story they'd concocted that whoever killed the seven Inferno members, also killed his 'Twi'lek girlfriend,' and so when Kellen slipped out of the shadows to join him a few minutes later, Atton's tale was much more believable.

"Look, she was a pain in the ass, but I wouldn't have killed her," he told Kellen. "I'm no Jedi—this thing's a souvenir only," he added, indicating the lightsaber at his belt.

Kellen, flanked by four Inferno members this time, regarded him skeptically. Atton thought it was over and the whole jig was up but then Kellen shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Well, I can't prove you had something to do with it, and even if I could, you'd still be coming with me. My boss wants to see you."

Atton nearly sighed with relief. _Please babe, hold on…_

"When do we leave?"

"Now."

* * *

"Got it," Dustil said into his comm-link. "Good luck."

Mission watched as he tucked the comm-link back into the sleeve of his robes and she bit her lip. "Do you think this is going to work? I'm worried about him."

The young Jedi favored her with one of his charming smiles. "Of course it will work. The Force is with us."

Mission smiled in spite of her worry. _I am so glad he's here,_ she thought a hugged herself to keep warm. The three of them—herself, Dustil and Zaalbar were huddled in an ally near a busy docking bay. Several large men watched over by a couple of nervous-looking docking officials were loading a small freighter with crates. The men loading the crates were not wearing black uniforms with the orange-flame insignia, but it was clear—to Mission anyway—that they were Inferno. She was amazed at the amount of mystery the simple act of loading a freighter held—the docking officials didn't know that the crates were filled with spice, and the men loading them did not know that some of the crates were filled with Vogga's men. It made her head spin with nervousness. _And to top it all off, T-3 is in there somewhere…what a mess! So many things could go wrong…_ She glanced over at Dustil. He was watching the scene with his sharp brown eyes and a half-smile on his handsome features. His confidence calmed her though a nagging fear lingered in the back of her mind.

"There," Dustil whispered. He pointed to two men and droid—Atton, HK and another Inferno member, Kellen presumably—were walking toward the passenger entrance of the freighter. Kellen stopped to talk to a docking official and Mission could see the man, even at this distance, press some credits into the official's hands. _That explains why no one is really searching the crates, _she thought. She looked to Atton. He didn't look at all nervous getting ready to infiltrate the ship of the Exchange's most dangerous criminals—on the contrary, Mission thought he looked ready to kill. HK-47, she was glad to see, stuck close to 'Jaq.' A few minutes later they were gone from sight, the crates were done being loaded and the freighter took off into the night sky.

"Now what do we do?" Mission asked.

"T-3 will knock out the security, Vogga's men and that Leigh woman will jump out and start raising hell. HK-47 and Atton will take care of the rest, find Master Koren, and that's that," Dustil said as they began walking away from the docking bay.

"Oh really? Just like that?" Mission marveled at his confidence.

"Sure," Dustil said and flashed her another smile.

Mission studied his face for a moment more. _He's up to something, I just know it, _came a thought that was quickly followed by, _Gods, he's handsome. _"But what do _we _do? You know, I'm a little surprised you didn't volunteer to sneak on board that freighter," she said slowly. "You strike me as someone who wants to be in the center of action." _'Center of action'? Geez, that's not too hokey. _But Dustil's smile only got wider.

"Right you are," he said. "Normally a rampaging rancor beast couldn't have kept me away from something like that, but…" he shrugged. "Someone's got to fly the ship."

Mission shook her head. "Huh? Fly what ship?"

"The _Ebon Hawk. _Atton happened to mention it to me—even told me where it's docked. Ahh, here we are," he said as they rounded a corner and Mission saw the _Hawk _looming in the shadows ahead of her.

Dustil stopped and looked down at Mission's perplexed expression. "Listen, in all the planning and plotting and worrying, no one bothered to figure out how to get Atton and Master Koren off O'Bannon's ship. You don't think I'd leave them all alone up there do you? Vogga's men may be allies, but they're still Exchange. And besides, why should Atton have all the fun?"

Mission highly doubted that Atton considered one particle of this whole ordeal as 'fun', but she was suddenly too overjoyed to remark on it. The nagging fear at the back of her mind was assuaged by his words, and she only barely resisted the urge to throw her arms around Dustil and hug the breath out of him. As she and Zaalbar and the Jedi boarded the _Ebon Hawk _she thought, _This is going to work! _

Dustil immediately went to the cockpit to investigate and get familiar with the _Hawk's_ systems. They wouldn't need to take off until they heard some word from Atton and so Mission had time to wander around the old ship.

It had been years since she had stepped foot on the freighter but she was surprised at how like coming home it was to wander among the berths and holds. She and Zaalbar chatted about old times and then settled into the main hold. She even talked the Wookie into a game of Pazaak. None of them, not even Dustil with his Force abilities sensed the Inferno members hidden in the cargo hold—Mission hadn't inspected every last crevice of the old ship. So when, four hours later, a garbled distress call came from Atton, Dustil flew to the controls and guided the _Ebon Hawk _into the night sky with three more passengers on board than they had counted.

* * *

Notes to reviewers: Glad you like the story. Yeah, Dane's going through some tough times right now and things are going to get slightly worse before they get better.Lot's of actionupcoming, I promise. 


	18. Here with me, Playing Pazaak

_Author's note: Violence and bad words up ahead. _

**Chapter 18**

**"You'll be right here with me, playing Pazaak."**

Dane couldn't sleep for the itching. It felt as though a sliver of a current of electricity was running

down her spine and up into her brain. As of late, a faint buzzing sound accompanied the maddening _itch_ of the implant and she wanted to tear it off the back of her neck and smash it into small pieces. She noticed the buzzing and tingling most at times like these, quiet times in which she was alone in her cell and Macen was not in his to talk to. The nervy feeling was incessant and Dane found she was becoming harder and harder to think clearly. _This is how I will go mad,_ she thought, her hand going to the back of her neck for the thousandth time. _My thoughts and memories will shatter like glass and scatter in my mind so that I can't put them correctly back together again. _She closed her eyes, willed herself to focus, but there was only the simple little implant and its itch that she now knew would be, after all the trials and battle and war she had been through, her final undoing.

But if the itch in her spine was maddening, and the new buzzing sound in her ears frightening, both sensations paled when compared to the pain in her heart for the loss of Atton. She cried bitter tears until she was nearly sick from crying. _I did exactly what I swore I would never do. I did not heed Kreia's words. The very reason I left my crew in the first place was to ensure my actions or choices would harm no one…and Atton has paid for my folly with his life. _

The afternoon was drawing to a close and evening approached…or at least Dane assumed it was nearing night. She and Macen had finished sparring several hours ago and she had been ushered back to her cell. Macen, for some reason, had stayed behind.

Macen. A good man—whatever his past—caught in O'Bannon's web. Dane had him to thank for keeping her afloat these last few days. Yes, he was a good man, a good friend, but he was not Atton.

Always her thoughts were drawn back to Atton. Instinctively, Dane tried to call upon the Force, to stretch her senses out, and search for him. But there was nothing. Atton was dead and all she had was the itch, the buzz, and the fear that, at any moment, O'Bannon was going to send for her. _I will fight him but when my strength gives out, what then? _

A memory came suddenly to Dane, of a time several months ago—though it seemed like years. She was on the _Ebon Hawk_ and Kreia was teaching her how to stretch out her senses and listen to the thoughts of the crew around her. Dane had found Atton sitting in the cockpit and his thoughts were of that card game he loved to play. Over and over he counted cards in his head, playing against an imaginary opponent, all to keep prying eyes and ears out of what is most sacred—his inner self.

_That is what I will do, _Dane thought, wiping her tears with the heal of her hand. _O'Bannon won't touch me because I'll do what Atton told me to do when I asked him, those many months ago, what it mean that he played cards in his head. _

"I'll do what you told me to do, love," she said aloud to her empty cell. "When he comes for me, I'll be far away, playing Pazaak with you."

No sooner than had the words escaped her, there came the sound of approaching footsteps. She raised her head and saw, with a pang of dread, the Duros, flanked by four guards, heading towards her cell.

She knew why they were coming for her. Raff O'Bannon had made his intentions clear enough after the battles in the Ring. Dane titled her chin up and made her face placid. She refused to let them see her fear and when the energy field that trapped her in her cell dissipated, she rose to her feet and walked out without a struggle.

Dane and her escort had reached the door to the cellblock when it opened and several prisoners, also flanked by guards, entered fresh from another bout of sparring in the Ring. Macen was one of them. His eyes widened when he saw her and she saw a flurry of movement as his hand went to his side. She saw a flash of silver and then Macen tripped—or pretended too—and sent the prisoner in front of him tumbling in the first guard of Dane's party. A small chain-reaction went off and for a few moments, there was chaos as the prisoners—always up for a brawl—took a few swings at the guards. Macen shoved his way to Dane and pressed a small dagger into her hand.

"Let him get close," he muttered in that low voice of his, "and then cut his throat."

Dane nodded and then she was being pulled away, out of the cellblock and Macen was being hauled inside. She laid the pommel of the dagger into the palm of her hand so that the blade rested against the skin of her wrist, secure and concealed. She looked over her shoulder and saw as Macen raised his hand to her. Dane knew that he was waving goodbye.

The march to O'Bannon's chambers was a long one through the bowels and tunnels of the _Affliction_. She had walked in once before, when she had first been taken to meet the Exchange boss but at that time she had been recovering from convulsions and so she did not remember the way. On this march, Dane endeavored to remember the route—an old habit of earlier days in which she believed having as much information about the enemy would always, eventually, be an advantage. Even though the time between now and those "early days" could be counted in hours, Dane now had little hope, and so she stopped paying attention. She walked with her hands at her sides, the dagger a comforting weight in her right hand. Huvra walked behind her, cackling softly to himself every now and then. Dane knew he had the remote in his hands, the one that sent her into convulsions with the press of a button. The urge to drive the dagger into his chest was a real one, but it would take him only a fraction of a second to press that button and render her helpless and then weaponless, for she would not be able to hide the dagger while writhing on the ground.

Finally they had arrived at O'Bannon's chambers and she was ushered inside and unceremoniously shoved to her knees in a poor approximation of a bow. Raff O'Bannon was at his long table, smoking a cigarra. Garn Goransh was, as ever, beside him.

Dane slowly got to her feet and braced herself under Raff's gaze. His eyes raked over her body, still clad in only her jumpsuit and a slow, lazy smile spread over his face. "Leave us," he ordered, "and Huvra, leave the remote with me."

The Duros nodded and tossed the little black box to Raff who caught it deftly with one hand.

"For later…," Raff leered at Dane and then laughed a hyena's laugh—mirthless and predatory.  
"Boss," said Garn in a dead, quiet voice, "you want me to check her?"

"Check her for what?" O'Bannon demanded, swinging his gaze upward to meet Garn's. "Fleas?"

"Weapons, boss."

"She's been in a bloody prison for three days," Raff snorted. "If she's got any weapons tucked somewhere, I'm bound to find them sooner or later, aren't I peach?" He winked at her and then suddenly thundered at Garn, "Now, get the bloody hell out of here before I tear your arms off and use them as back scratchers."

Raff laughed uproariously at his own threat while Garn reluctantly retreated, taking the last of the guards with him. Dane was alone in the room with Raff. As soon as the door slid shut Raff's laughter died as abruptly as it came and he lit another cigarra, his eyes never leaving Dane's.

"Ye want to fight me, don't ye?" Raff said quietly. "You want to take that dagger ye have stashed in your hands and slit me throat. It's all right, I get that a lot."

Dane tensed and let the dagger slide out of her hand so that she could catch it at the handle. There was no sense in hiding it now, so she gripped the hilt tightly and waited.

"The reason I told me men to leave us is because peach is I want a fight too. I figure you deserve that. You killed two prisoners…one of them with yer bare hands. Not bad for a girl," O'Bannon smirked. "Now I want the chance to beat the shite out o' ye, but I want to be fair about it. I'm going to give you a chance to vent yer frustrations out on me—I'm even letting you keep the dagger, for now—but then you and I are going to have to get down to business. Eh? How's that sound?"

Dane said nothing but went into her fighting stance. _Score is zero to zero, round one. Let's begin…_

Raff, still smoking his cigarra, took a step closer and began walking to his right. Dane followed suit so that they slowly circled one another. When he flicked his lit cigarra at her, she moved only enough to get out of the way of being burned—she had seen him do that once before, to Macen, and she was ready for it. _Opponent dealt a three, me a four…_Raff laughed but she could see his eyes darken.

"Yer a sharp one, aren't ye?" he sneered. "You know, I think—" Raff began his sentence casually but it was a decoy. He suddenly lunged forward, attempting again to take Dane by surprise. He had better success this time than with the cigarra—his blow grazed her chin and as her dagger-wielding hand swung upward toward his gut, he blocked it with his forearm. This left his right side open and Dane slammed her fist into his eye. It was a strong blow, one that would have knocked out a lesser opponent but Raff took it as though it had been a slight breeze. He returned the blow with a stunning upper cut to her cheek and Dane went flying. She struck the ground, dazed, and had just presence of mind enough not to lose the dagger.

Raff circled her, rubbing the side of his face where blood was flowing above his right eye—her blow had done damage after all. Dane got to her feet and readied herself, clenching the dagger tightly in her hand. _Eight card, makes eleven; six card for me makes ten…_

"That smarts, ye little bitch," Raff snarled. "I'm going to make you bleed for that."

Dane ignored his threats and concentrated on familiarizing herself with the room, searching for potential weapons. To her right was the long table, on it a vase of dead flowers that looked as though they had been purposefully deprived of water. _The vase, _she thought. Her eyes saw a door in the wall beyond the table and she guessed it led to O'Bannon's inner rooms. Straight ahead, behind Raff, was a large rectangular mirror hanging on the wall. Dane tried not to let her gaze linger on the thin, haggard reflection of herself she saw there. _The mirror's glass, _she added to her queue of arms. A tablecloth on a smaller table to her left. The heavy glass ashtray. Even the stacks of datapads strewn over what looked to be Raff's desk—all became potential weapons in her eyes. She took them all in without ever letting her gaze fall away from O'Bannon.

"Come on," he urged in a low, whispery voice. "Come on, peach. I'm a busy man, I haven't—"

Now it was Dane's turn to rush at him. She threw him off balance but only for a precious second. She faked a kick to his knee and instead tried to slice her dagger across his midsection. But Raff, she was quickly learning, was faster than she had give him credit for. He caught her wrist as it came flying towards him and blocked her left fist when she tried for a repeat of her earlier move. For a moment they were locked like that, him squeezing her wrist in an attempt to get her to drop the knife and she struggling through the pain to hold on. In the end, he won and the dagger fell from her hand to clatter onto the floor.

"Next card, plus or minus four," Dane said aloud and that _did _throw Raff off. He looked up at her and for a split second relaxed his grip. Dane drew her knee up swiftly, striking him in the groin. His face contorted with pain but he did not let go of her wrists. She kicked the dagger away just as his right hand released her long enough to strike her a mind-numbing blow to the cheek.

"Damn you!" he seethed, his face an ugly and frightening shade of red. He struck her again and then threw her bodily onto the long table.

Dane crashed heavily onto the table, knocking the vase of dead flowers to the floor. Blood seeped into her eye, blurring her vision but she rolled to her right instinctively, and so narrowly avoided Raff's next blow. His fist hit hard wood and his curses grew viler. Dane tried to haul herself off the table but she was too slow, made dizzy from the blows she had taken. Raff was on her, pinning one arm and striking her with his left fist. Dane's head spun with each blow but her hand, the one that wasn't pinned down, touched cool glass. The ashtray. Dane somehow grabbed hold of it and slammed it into Raff O'Bannon's temple.

"Flip the plus or minus five card, total is now nineteen," Dane gasped as she staggered away from the table. Raff lay slumped over it, though not for long. Already he was pushing himself up and turning towards her. She tried to spot the dagger but it was lost somewhere on the floor. Her head spun and her blood trickled from her nose, eyes and lips. She must've looked horrible but she didn't care. She didn't expect to live through this fight, only to finish it, and so when Raff, his own face a bloody mess, rounded on her and started towards her, she screamed, "Come on, you sick bastard! To twenty!"

"I think me peach has gone nutty already," Raff snarled, wiping blood and spittle from his chin. He gingerly touched the enormous bloody lump that was swelling at his temple where she had struck him with the ashtray and his features contorted with rage. With his numerous injuries, he looked truly frightening.

"Come on!" Dane screamed again and Raff obliged.

He flew at her with a speed she hadn't expected. He slammed into her and sent her crashing against the mirror on the wall behind her. It shattered over them, raining down shards of glass like cutting rain. Dane felt the mirror cut her back and shoulders but she was beyond pain now. She let one of her hands fall and managed to catch a fairly large shard as it came down behind her. It sliced her hand but she held it tightly, as she had the dagger. Raff's hand went to her throat and began to squeeze.

"Opponent draws…a six," Dane gasped, "total…is twenty-one… You lose," she said and drew the shard up, intending to slit his throat.

"No, peach," Raff hissed, his own breath coming hard, "you lose."

He released her throat in time to stop her from cutting him, while Raff's other hand came up, revealing his weapon.

It was Huvra's box.

Dane froze in fear and revulsion and Raff took the opportunity to step away from her, to catch his breath. He was holding the box before him. He smiled a small, pain-infested smile that made him look like the madman he was and ran his finger over the red button that would, if pressed, render her helpless. Dane pulled herself off the wall, still holding her shard of mirror in her bloodied hand.

"You're a coward," she whispered. "If you don't finish this game, you're nothing but a coward."

Raff shrugged and said, "Aye, peach, but no one in this room is going to live to tell about it."

And he pressed the button.

* * *

Garn Goransh had been standing outside the door all the while his boss fought with the Jedi. He had been tempted to enter on several occasions—most notably at the last, loud shattering of glass. But he had worked for Raff O'Bannon for a year and knew the man could take care of himself. Why Raff would allow the Jedi bitch the chance to fight him, he didn't understand. To Garn, the matter was simple. Take her if he wanted to take her, or kill her. Anything else was just a waste of time.

Only a moment after that loud crashing of glass sounded, Kellen rounded the corner followed by four guards and a stranger—a tall man with an outdated eye patch over one eye. The Mandalorian's hand instantly went to the blaster at his waist and without taking his eyes off the stranger, he said, "What the fuck is this, Kellen?"

"Step back Garn, boss requested this meeting," Kellen replied coldly.

"Boss is busy," Garn said. He looked scanned the stranger for weapons and was pleased—as much as he could be, anyway—to note that Kellen had had the presence of mind to strip him of any he may have been carrying.

"Boss is going to want to talk to my new pal Jaq here," Kellen said and slapped the stranger on the shoulder. _He looks familiar, _Garn thought, and noticed that 'Jaq' was making a very subtle effort not to look at the Mandalorian directly. But before he could comment, Kellen was trying to slip past him. Without further ado, Garn jabbed Kellen in the throat with two fingers with uncanny ease and speed. The man staggered back, clutching his neck and gasping for air.

"Dammit, you asshole!" Kellen wheezed. "Boss _requested_ this meeting!"

"We'll see," Garn said. "Wait here." He activated the door and slipped inside, closing it swiftly behind him.

The scene that greeted him was not pleasant, but by no means unusual. The chamber wore the signs of battle—broken glass, overturned table, and the like. The Jedi was lying on the floor, twitching gently and muttering what sounded like numbers. Raff stood over her, smoking a cigarra and holding a rag to his right eyebrow. He froze when he saw Garn and for a moment the Mandalorian regretted entering.

"What do you want?" Raff asked in a deadly quiet voice.

"You got company boss," Garn said. "Some spacer with Kellen. Said you set it up."

Raff brightened instantly and tossed his bloody rag to the ground. "Oh yes, yes, yessss," he said. "First pleasure," he said, nudging the Jedi woman with his boot, "and now business. Unfortunately, the peach took a little spill before the fun really started."

"Boss, you want to get cleaned up…?" Garn began.

"Why, for fuck's sake? Who am I trying to impress? That spacer has what I want and he'll end up looking worse than me if he doesn't share," Raff said and snickered. "Get the peach out of my sight. Stash her in me room until me meeting is over."

Garn nodded and picked up the tablecloth from the other table. He knelt beside the Jedi woman and wrapped her in it. He saw she her back was torn and bloody and her face, once pretty, was now a mess of bruises and cuts. He picked her up and at the movement, she stirred and began murmuring, "Plus or minus…three…total is eleven…" Garn didn't know what it meant and he didn't care. He activated the door to Raff's sleeping quarters and dumped her on the bed, leaving her there. He hesitated before sliding the door shut behind him, not liking to leave her alone. Jedi's—even implanted ones—had a tendency to cause trouble when left unsupervised. But one look at her and Garn thought, _She's so banged up, she's not going anywhere._

"Garn, show me guests in, would ye now?" Raff said. He had righted the table that had been overturned and sat behind it. His own face didn't look so good and in fact was dripping blood down his shirt and onto the table but it apparently didn't bother him.

Garn activated the door and allowed Kellen, the four guards and the stranger into the room. As he slid the door shut behind them he thought, _I don't like this, not at all…_

* * *

Notes to Reviewers: OK, I promise Dane's going to catch a break soon, I'm done torturing the poor gal. Sort of. ;) Thanks for all the reviews, (hugs to you Kuramos Girl Angel) and I'll have the next one posted shortly...and in the next one Atton and HK are gonna kick a little ass. ;) 


	19. Atton and Raff have a Little Chat

**Chapter 19**

**Atton and Raff Have a Little Chat….**

When Atton and HK-47 were ushered on board the _Affliction_, it was immediately decided that the hunter-killer unit with the very large disruptor carbine would not be allowed anywhere near Raff O'Bannon's personal chambers. Four guards in black with orange-flame insignias were ordered by Kellen to take HK to the droid bay and wait until the meeting with Jaq and the crime boss was concluded. This didn't sit well with the droid, and he especially didn't appreciate it when he was ordered to hand over that very large disruptor carbine to one of the guards either.

"Just go, HK," Atton had told him. "I'll be talking to you soon."

"Statement: Yes, Master Jaq," HK-47 had said and reluctantly allowed himself to be led away to the droid bay. He had caught Atton's meaning—he was comlinked to Atton and when 'Master Jaq' called on him, HK-47 intended to be free of entanglements. That meant not going to the droid bay.

The four guards that led him down the steel-lined hallways of Raff O'Bannon's barge were not really guards at all, HK observed. They were just Exchange thugs in uniform. They chatted to one another, made lewd comments, and the one holding the disruptor carbine, HK noted, was in real danger of accidentally blowing his own head off, judging by the way he carried the gun. HK-47 decided he wanted his weapon back.

On his left leg, where a thigh would be on most humanoid species, HK-47 wore Mark II droid plate armor that had been salvaged somewhere along the journey with the Exile and soldered on to his leg by the now-dead Zabrak meatbag. HK, at the time, had made a special request to the spiky-headed mechanic, and the mechanic had complied. Now, HK-47 triggered a mechanism and the plate armor separated to reveal a hollow amongst the circuitry of his leg, and in that hollow was a blaster. With smooth, fluid movements, HK-47 released the catch, took up the blaster, systematically shot and killed each of his four guards in turn and even caught his beloved disruptor carbine as it fell from the dead guard's hands. Setting the carbine into the crook of his arm, HK-47 said aloud, "Overjoyed Statement: Core protocols initiated. Systems functional and active. Extermination of meatbags commencing…ahhh, here's one now."

A man in a black uniform rounded the corner and stopped short when he saw the well-armed assassin droid standing in the center of a ring of dead comrades. Unfortunately, he had little time to ponder the scene before HK-47 fired a shot. The Inferno man crumpled to the ground.

"Bemused Statement: It is so convenient that the meatbags I am to kill come in clearly marked packaging, with their black uniforms and little badges. It is," HK paused to shoot another Inferno member who had rounded the corner, "rather silly."

No further meatbags in black approached so HK began to walk. The hallways of the ship were deserted and the droid clanked down them for a full five minutes before coming to a door. It was not locked and when he activated it, it slid open to reveal a small security room manned by two Inferno members, both of who were drunk. HK made them dead.

He was not a slicer by creation, but it didn't take him long to access a console in the security room and download the schematics of the entire ship. With every chamber, hall, dorm and hold at ready command, HK could now hunt with a purpose. "Satisfied Observation," he said, "the prison cells are but five hundred meters from my present position. Master Koren will be pleased to see me."

HK-47 took time to review the schematics. The _Affliction _was a good-sized vessel and the wealthy Corellian merchant Raff O'Bannon had stolen it from had taken great care in its construction. Three levels high and over one thousand meters long, it was a pleasure barge to rival any other. O'Bannon, after a name change and some slight modifications, had turned it into the perfect ship for his own purposes. The three docking bays where the merchant had landed smaller vanity speeders now docked the small freighters that brought Raff his contraband. Where there had been promenade and observation decks, there were now gun turrets and weapons silos. The hyperdrive was state-of-the-art, the navigational systems the most advanced of their kind. Unfortunately, the security system hadn't been up to the challenge of Raff O'Bannon and his men. The Corellian merchant had been in the process of programming a small company of security droids when O'Bannon had decided the ship should be his. O'Bannon, in turn, finished the job on the droids.

Of course, this history the _Affliction_ was not in the schematics, but HK-47 did note the droid bay and its accompanying repair facility. His own logic programs deduced that a droid bay that size and in the employ of a paranoid, half-crazed Exchange boss with a ship like the _Affliction_ could only be for the construction and maintenance of security droids. It further deduced for him the likely patrol routes of those security droids. He wouldn't avoid those routes if he needed to walk them—quite the contrary. He was more than willing to challenge what could only be substandard units in comparison to himself, but they were something to make note of. No matter how incompetent they seemed to him, one fact remained—droids always go down slower than meatbags.

Satisfied, he accessed his comlink to the T3 unit so as to begin the next part of Atton's plan. "Query: State your present situation, please. Have you completed the little task Master Jaq requested of you?"

There was a moment of silence and then the comlink emitted a low series of beeps from T3 telling him that he had released Vogga's men from the crates and were in position to begin their attack. HK-47 listened, and if he could have smiled, he would have.

"Statement: Well done…for an inferior model."

T3 responded that he could slice the cargo area but could not do so without setting off an alarm. HK-47 thought it a minor point if the alarm was sounded, but the element of surprise, Atton had explained—would be a necessary ally. To HK, taking meatbags by surprise—while enjoyable—was not as satisfying as out-and-out battle. But, extermination was extermination no matter how one processed it, and so he scanned the security console before him and found the alarm systems for the cargo area. He disabled them with a flick of a switch and marveled at the ineptitude of whoever programmed the system—he hadn't even needed a code. He did the same for the camera systems as well and then spoke into his comlink.

"Statement: I believe you should have no trouble with the alarms now."

T3 beeped in acknowledgement and then there was a moment of silence, presumably while the droid sliced the cargo hold doors. HK waited impatiently until finally T3 bwooped that he was through. This was followed shortly by the sounds of muffled shouting and blaster-fire.

"Delighted Statement: Ahh, the sound of dying meatbags. Music to my audioreceptors…"

T3 came back on and reported that some minor resistance had been taken care of and Vogga's confederates had now begun their siege.

"Statement: Good. Download the schematics of this vessel and meet me in the prison block in ten standard minutes." T3 beeped his compliance and was out.

HK-47 stepped over the bodies of the thugs and continued on his way toward the prison block. His current position was on the bottom level of the three-tiered ship. He plotted a course that would take him to a freight elevator that would, in turn, take him to the second level. He found the elevator easily enough and was disappointed that it was empty. However, as he arrived at the second level and the doors slid open to reveal one of O'Bannon's security droids.

It was of a model similar to what Dane had faced on Peragus, had HK known it. Shaped rather like a tarantula, the droid sported twin blaster carbines on what would be its forelegs, and—much to HK's amusement, an advanced droid neural pacifier mounted to its head unit. Apparently, O'Bannon figured most of his enemies were of the biological sort, for the security droid fired that particular weapon first. Of course, it did nothing to HK-47 and he fired his carbine again and again. The security droid sparked and smoked and then crumpled to the ground in a gangly tangle of steel legs. It shuddered once and then was still. HK continued on his way.

The second level was more heavily populated than the first, and so HK-47 had more opportunities to exterminate black-clad Inferno members than previously. However, HK's total lack of stealth and restraint was almost certainly going to lose Atton the element of surprise he had been relying on a bit sooner than planned. HK mowed down any life form that came into his range and it wouldn't be long before someone tripped an alarm. But for now, HK was content and we went on his murderous way.

He was nearly the prison block when he noted, from the schematics, a storage chamber a few meters to his right. In his days with Dane, no storage facility went uninspected for weapons or items that would help them on their quest. Dane didn't like the idea of stealing from anyone—enemy meatbags or no, but she had understood the necessity. Out of habit, perhaps, HK veered to his right and made for the storage facility. He was glad he did.

The room was a veritable treasure chest of weapons and armor of a wide variety of style and origin. HK picked through the trove—most of which had been simply dumped wherever space was available—and deduced that these items were taken from the prisoners upon their arrival on board the _Affliction._ HK-47 saw nothing he particularly required, (though he did give a kick to a vulpine droid disruptor—its mere presence offended him to the core of his processors) until his photoreceptors landed on several familiar items.

"Delighted Observation: Master is going to be pleased with me, indeed," he said and picked up the items. He slung the Jedi robes over the arm that held his carbine and inserted the lightsaber into the hollow in his thigh Bao-Dur had created for him so many months ago, leaving the rest.

He arrived at the prison block after taking out of few more Inferno members who had died with shocked looks on their faces that they should perish—after a perilous life in the Exchange—so suddenly. HK himself wished for more of a fight, but there wasn't time to process it now. T3-M4 trundled up precisely on time, looking slightly worse for wear. Scorch marks dirtied his façade, indicating he had seen, and overcome, his own battles. The little droid beeped and hooted a greeting.

"Command: Silence! Please open the door to this prison block so that I may retrieve Master."

T3 obeyed and the door slid open. HK-47 immediately stepped inside and the fight he had been wanting began.

The prison block was a small, dingy room lined with twelve cube-shaped cells. Energy fields on the cells kept the prisoners in and another energy field protected the warden. It was the warden, at the sudden arrival of HK-47, who finally sounded the alarm. The droid, from the schematics, had known there was a dormitory nearby and so was not surprised when a dozen black-clad men rushed in behind him. T3 let out a squeal-like hoot and made for a corner to better fight them. HK-47 simply turned and opened fire.

The men had blasters and returned fire instantly. A few of the shots bounced harmlessly off HK's armor but one of the detested meatbags had an ion blaster and suddenly HK's left arm was rendered useless. Fortunately, it was the arm he using only to steady his disruptor and his ability to fire was not impeded terribly. The meatbags dropped like flies and T3-M4 did his part by firing at them from behind. In a matter of moments, the Inferno members were dead and the warden was cowering behind his energy field.

HK-47 figured more Inferno members were going to be headed their way soon—a high-pitched alarm was reverberating through the ship now and time was growing short. From the cells came the encouraging shouts of the prisoners. HK's audioreceptors did not detect his master's voice among them, but then she wasn't one to cheer the slaughter of a dozen meatbags either. He ordered T3 to slice the energy field generator, which the little droid did with ease. The warden made some sort of appeal for his life but HK couldn't hear it over the firing of his carbine into the man's chest.

"Command: Deactivate the energy shields to the cells," he barked at T3. Again, the little droid did so and the energy fields to each of the cells dissipated. Only eight of the cells had been occupied and HK-47 scanned the men that emerged from them. His master was not among them.

"Irritated Statement: I am going to enjoy annihilating the meatbag who is making this task more difficult for me." He began scanning the schematics again, searching for a second cell block, or any other likely chamber his master might be housed in, when one of the prisoners approached. HK-47 leveled his carbine at the meatbag who immediately threw up his arms in a gesture of surrender.

"Don't shoot, please. I am a friend of the Jedi," the man said, his eyes going to the robes slung across HK's arm. "You've come for her, haven't you?" he added hopefully.

"Statement: Correct. Query: Where is Master?" HK-47 said in rapid succession.

"They've taken her to O'Bannon's chambers," the man said. "Come on, we have to hurry. Gods know what that bastard has done…" his words trailed off and he looked around at the dead bodies for a weapon.

HK-47 cocked his carbine and the man froze. "Query: Please explain to me why I should allow you to accompany me…or to live, for that matter."

"I'm a friend of Dane's. Name's Macen. I've been a prisoner here for nearly a year. I want just as badly as you do to find her and kill the bastards that have tortured her and get the hell off this ship. You can't fight every man here on your own. Let me help."

"Amused Query: Who ever said myself and this little T3 unit were alone? As we speak, my other…_master_ has already infiltrated O'Bannon's chamber—that meatbag may be dead already."

The man, Macen, smiled tensely. "Glad to here it. But your master might need help." He indicated the screeching alarm.

"Resigned Observation: You may be correct. Very well, come with me but just know that if you are playing false with me, your death will be long and somewhat painful."

"Yeah, yeah, like I haven't heard that ten times a day since I been here," Macen muttered and picked up a blaster from one of the dead guards.

"Reluctant Suggestion: As much as it pains me, I would recommend taking that ion blaster as well," HK said to Macen and pointed at the weapon still clutched in the dead man's hands. "Prediction: We will likely run into security droids and such a firearm will prove useful."

Macen nodded and took up the second blaster, hefting it into his left hand. No sooner had he done so, than six more Inferno members poured into the room. The meatbag Macen, HK was pleased to note, was handy with the blasters and between the three of them, the six thugs didn't stand a chance.

"That was easy," Macen said. "There's a prison break at least twice a month. The powers that be are going to think this is just another one for now. But sooner or later someone is going to get smart."

"Condescending Observation: Then we had better get moving, don't you think? Especially since the other meatbags we have infiltrating this barge have likely been discovered. This alarm is not just for us."

Macen smiled again as they made their way toward to the upper level, to O'Bannon's chambers. "Nice to know that Dane has a lot of friends."

"Sardonic Observation: Yes, it quite fortunate for you, isn't it? But let us keep the pleasant chitchat to ourselves for now, shall we? According to my schematics, it is a long way from the here to the chambers and here come more meatbags," HK said and raised his carbine as a contingent of Inferno members—this time more organized and prepared, came at them. He and Macen and T3 took cover around the corner while the thugs, at the other end of the hall did the same.

"Fine by me," HK heard Macen mutter from beside him. "I've been waiting for a chance to kill these sons of bitches for a long time," he growled and stepped around the corner to fire his dual blasters. He caught one thug in the chest before taking cover beside the droids. The man collapsed to the ground with a gurgled cry.

HK would have smiled if he could. "Query: Is that so?" the droid said and stepped into the hall. "Statement: You and I are going to get along just fine, Macen," he said, firing his carbine and then retreating behind the corner again.

He watched as Macen left the safety of the wall and two more Inferno members fell to the ground, clutching the smoking ruins of their chests.

"Yes, we'll get along just fine. Approving Statement: You're not bad…for a meatbag."

* * *

Atton stepped into Raff O'Bannon's chambers and felt the door slide shut behind him with a foreboding-sounding hiss. _Here we go…_he thought and prepared himself for the show of his life.

The chambers, he noted with his one good eye, bore the signs of a fight. Broken glass here, an overturned chair there…and spots and streaks of blood staining the floor in several areas, most notably a larger pool of it in the center of the room. Atton tensed as Kellen lead him forward to meet Raff O'Bannon, and tensed again when he stepped close enough, in the dim light, to see the crimelord's face.

Whatever the fight was that caused the room such damage, Raff O'Bannon had been a part of it. The man's face was a mess of bruising, lumps, and one eye was rapidly swelling shut. Blood was still leaking from Raff's face, staining his shirt and making a little puddle on the table. The battle, whatever it was about, had been recent. _Real recent, _Atton thought. He glanced around surreptitiously, but saw no sign of the opponent.

Raff O'Bannon didn't seem to notice or mind the state of his chambers (or his face) but beckoned, with a friendly greeting, for Atton to sit at a chair pulled in front of the table.

_Friendly my ass, _Atton thought, stepping closer. He could see Raff's eyes now and there was nothing of friendship—nor anything that closely approximated it—in those eyes of his.

"Come in, me new pal—Jaq, was it? Excuse the mess—I been redecorating," he said and laughed a mirthless laugh. "Get the fuck out of here!" he bellowed at Kellen who slunk away like a wounded dog. In the next instant, Raff was all smiles again for Atton. "T'is a pleasure to meet ye, me boy," Raff said, extending his hand to be shaken.

Atton kept his face placid and offered his own hand in return. He was acutely aware of the man standing beside Raff—Garn, his name was—as the man with the map who had begun this whole nightmare in the first place. A wave of rage washed through him but he forced himself to stay centered. Somehow, he did not grimace when Raff squeezed his injured hand tightly in his own meaty one. Garn, he noticed, paid particular attention to that handshake but Atton thought he had pulled it off. His hand was screaming now, but he showed no signs of discomfort. Until Raff spoke next.

"This be my associate, Garn," he said, and lit a cigarra.

Atton froze in the act of sitting as Garn too, offered his hand. "Pleased to meet you," the Mandalorian said in that emotionless voice Atton remembered so well. Atton met his eyes and saw that Garn was studying him intently, waiting to shake the hand he had crushed three days previous. _He doesn't recognize me yet, but shit, this is cutting it close, _Atton thought and reluctantly extended his hand.

Garn squeezed hard… and then harder, watching all the while, Atton guessed, for some sign of pain. And there was pain. A lot of it. Atton held his breath to keep from gasping. He focused his eyes on Garn's and concentrated with all of his being to not give the slightest hint of his agony.

Raff furrowed his brow. "This be the longest handshake I ever seen," he commented. "What, now Garn, don't tell me yer fallin' in love with ole Jaq, here, already?"  
Garn paid no attention to his boss, which was unfortunate for Atton. For all his attempts at keeping his face calm, his body betrayed him. The pain was terrible and a bead of sweat broke out on his forehead and trickled down his temple. Garn saw it. His eyes widened imperceptibly and the suspicion in them was replaced by recognition. _He remembers me… _Garn released Atton's hand. _It's over now, _Atton thought with a pang of dread. _I'm sorry, Dane. I tried…_

But Garn did not pull the blaster out of his belt and blow Atton's brains out all over the floor as was expected. Instead, he simply let his hand rest on that blaster and Atton saw, only for a moment, the smallest flicker of fear pass over the Mandalorian's eyes. Garn stepped back beside Raff, his eyes never leaving Atton and the tense moment was over.

Atton couldn't, for the life of him, understand why Garn hadn't, at the very least, ratted him out to Raff. _Quit worrying about it and be glad,_ he told himself and forced his one-eyed gaze away. Raff O'Bannon was talking to him now and Atton had a job to do.

"I'm going to get right to the point," Raff said, taking a deep drag off his cigarra. "I hear ye used to work for that shite-eating bastard Goto. That true?"

"Yeah," Atton muttered and then cleared his throat that had suddenly gone dry on him. It was ten times harder to put on the act when Garn, not three paces from him, new it was all a lie. Every word Atton spoke was going to dig him deeper and deeper and at some point, Garn was going to do something about it. Again, Atton forced himself to concentrate. So far, the Mandalorian, whatever his reasons, was staying quiet, no sense worrying about it now. "Yeah, I worked for him," Atton said, louder now. He drew out his own cigarra. His hand was threatening to shut down on him, but he persevered through the pain and lit the cigarra.

"I see," Raff murmured, scrutinizing Atton through the one eye that hadn't swollen shut. "I see ye also have a lightsaber…"

Garn's hand clenched the blaster at his belt while Raff said, "I'll see that Kellen hung up by the short hairs for allowing an armed stranger in to me own private sanctuary."

Atton shrugged. "It's only a keepsake of mine from an old mark. It doesn't work." It didn't work because Atton had put the emitter in one pocket and the orange crystal in the other. He laid the double-bladed saber on the table and watched as Raff tried the switch a few times. The crimelord snorted and tossed it back to Atton who caught it with his left hand and returned it to his belt.

"I can appreciate wantin' to keep a little something from yer kills. Why, meself? I got a whole closet full o' skeletons," he said and chortled at his own joke.

"Boss," Garn said suddenly, his eyes on Atton, "you're still bleeding. I hope that Jedi bitch is suffering for it."

The blood froze in Atton's veins but he did not break his gaze from Garn's. Raff started to laugh and Atton waited for his reply with a lead weight around his heart.

"Oh, I reckon she's taking a nice long nap now," he said with a chuckle. He leaned over the table and said to Atton, "Ye know women. You can't live with'em, can't beat the living shite of them without taking an ashtray to the head, ye know?"

Atton realized he was clenching his jaw. He forced himself to relax. Garn was wearing the smallest flicker of a smile. _I see how it is. He wants to play a little game. Well, I won't blink first. I won't…_

Atton chuckled dryly and said, "That's the truth, but listen, Raff—can I call you Raff?—I've got shit to do, so why don't we just get on to business. I'll tell you a few things I think you might like and we can go from there. What do you say?"

Raff responded by narrowing his eyes and then suddenly laughing uproariously. Atton marveled at the speed in which the man's mood changed. It was a tactic, he thought, to throw people off. _And it works. Stay cool…_

"I like yer style, Jaq," Raff said. "Only I got one problem with you and it's been nagging at me since I seen ye. Ye see, yer a traitor, Jaq, plain and simple. Yer a turncoat, a double-crosser, a two-timing son of a whore. Ye turned on Goto and now ye come spilling yer guts to me. So no matter what little gems about that bastard Goto ye want to drop in me lap, they be stolen gems, ye get me? Yer a traitor, and ye can't ever trust a traitor, even one with a mother lode of gems. Am I right, or am I right?"

Atton shrugged and took a drag off his cigarra to cover his unease. He exhaled slowly, thinking fast. "Raff, in this business, money talks louder than anything else. You call me a traitor, I call myself a businessman. Goto didn't pay me what my services were worth. I'm going to go to someone who will. I'm willing to trade what I know about Goto to you, because I know you're a businessman too. So when I come to you with my little pile of gems, you can take them with a clear conscious. Instead of the credits he owes me, Goto paid me in information. It's my last paycheck, if you will, and it's really not up to him anymore where I cash it in, is it?"

Raff pondered this for long moments and then slowly, a smile spread over his bloodstained face. Atton let out a very small, very surreptitious sigh of relief.

"Ooo, ain't you a wily one," Raff said and reached across the table to pat Atton on the shoulder. His hand lingered there and he said, "Just one thing, though, before we get down to it. Is yer eye a big nasty mess under that ole patch? I'm dyin' to know—especially if its all gooey and scarred to hell." And without the slightest sense of decency, Raff lifted Atton's eyepatch.

_Gods bless that Twi'lek,_ Atton thought, as Raff inspected the milky white contact lens he wore over his eye. Atton almost didn't mind the test, as it was a point for him in the little showdown between himself and the Mandalorian.

"Pbbllt!" Raff snorted and let the eyepatch back down with a slightly painful snap. "Aww, that ain't nothing but a blind eye. I was hoping for a real stomach-churnin' sight. What the hell happened?"

"Sorry to disappoint," Atton remarked. "It got burned in a fight. Some coward Mandalorian threw a plasma torch at me during the war."

Garn tensed and Raff laughed until tears leaked out of good eye. "Ooo, Garn. Ole Jaq is a feisty one, isn't he?"

Atton knew he was pushing his luck but couldn't resist. Garn, however, was game and had a better arsenal than Atton did.

"Boss, you want me to check on the Jedi? I think you may have killed the little bitch."

Atton was clenching his jaw again while Raff's laughter died abruptly.

"Will you shut up about the Jedi, for fuck's sake!" He leaned across the table to Atton and said in a confiding tone, "I've captured me a little Jedi peach and for the last three days have been having some fun with her, but now I think ole Garn here is getting jealous." Louder he said, "Aren't you, Garn? First ole Jaq here and now the peach. Me thinks ye just need to get laid," Raff said and laughed some more.

_Having some fun with her…May have killed…_Atton's face smiled darkly in response to Raff's words, but inside, he was roiling with rage. His one consolation was that he now knew it had been Dane who had been battling with O'Bannon and who had made his face look like hell. _Good for you, babe. You started it and I'm going to finish it. I'm going to kill him, sweets, I swear it. _

"All right, all right, all right, all right," Raff said, stubbing out his cigarette in a bloody ashtray. "Time to get down to business. Jaq, I see yer point about being a businessman, and me thinks yer right. You tell me what ye know about the shite-eating maggot Goto, and if me likes it, I'll think about finding you some work. Assassination is yer game?"

"Yeah, it is," Atton said slowly.

"All right then, let's have at those little gems, eh?"

The time had come. Atton knew nothing of Goto's business beyond fighting off his thugs to protect Dane when the Jedi bounties were high. Even after that floating arsenal of a G0T0 until joined them, Atton spoke not at all to it. No, now was the time to end it the charade.

Atton looked at Garn. The man had his hand resting on the blaster at his belt. This did not suit Atton's needs at all. The flipped the lighter in his hand around and around between two fingers as he thought desperately for a plan.

"Well," Raff said, leaning back in his chair and putting his arms behind his head. "Let's get on with it. I've got a little peach to screw after this meeting is adjourned and I'd like to get to it, if ye know what I mean."

Atton went blind in his other eye for the rage that rampaged through him. He couldn't speak, but then, he didn't need to. As if on cue, a high-pitched alarm sounded throughout the ship. Garn started and nearly drew his blaster, but Raff didn't blink an eye. "Probably the damn prisoners have escaped…again."

"What's happening?" Garn said into a comlink on his wrist. Atton knew exactly what was happening, and he watched Garn, waiting for the perfect moment. He flipped the lighter in his hand around again and again, waiting and watching, using every bit of will he had not to throttle that bastard Raff O'Bannon within an inch of his life.

A man's voice came through the comlink, sounding slightly panicked. "Don't know, boss. The original alarm came from the prison cell, but other alarms have been tripped too."

Raff froze in his chair and looked at Atton. Atton flipped the lighter again and again…

"What about the cameras?" Garn asked. He too, was looking at Atton.

"They've been shut off," the man said.

"Tell him," Raff said to Garn, though with his eyes still on Atton, "to tell the pilots to take this ship to Manaan right this bloody instant."

Garn nodded and repeated the command, got a response, and then looked to Atton.

"Got some trouble, do you?" Atton drawled.

"Aye," Raff said, narrowing his eyes. "On the same bloody night as ye come to see me. What game are you playing, Jaq? Hmm? Tell me before I get _really bloody fucking PISSED OFF!_"

Atton's time was short. He ignored Raff and said, "Hey, Garn…catch," and tossed the lighter at the Mandalorian. As hoped, Garn, without thinking, caught it with the hand that had been about to grab his blaster. In that split second, Atton shot out his own right hand and called upon the Force as he never had in his life. The blaster came loose from Garn's belt and sailed smoothly into Atton's waiting hand. He caught it and in one fluid movement, despite the pain, he swiveled the blaster toward Raff O'Bannon and shot him in the head.

Atton was little less than a meter and a half away from Raff O'Bannon when he pulled the trigger on the blaster. At such close range, the damage done was grisly and unpleasant. A hole appeared between his eyes and the contents of his head spilled out on the floor behind him. Raff was dead before he hit the ground. He was dead before his chair even began to keel over backward, the expression of rage etched into his face like a horrible mask.

But before his body crashed to the floor, Atton had the blaster on Garn.

"Where is she?" he demanded, rising to his feet. "_Where the fuck is she?_" Atton tore off the eyepatch and tossed it to the ground.

Garn held up his hands and nodded toward a door to the rear of the chamber. Atton spared a quick glance and then slowly worked his way around the table. _Dane is just behind that door?_ _So help me, if she's dead…_

"Move," he said in a voice he didn't recognize as his own.

"Your hand must hurt, holding that blaster at me," Garn remarked in that dead voice of his.

"Shut up," Atton snarled. His hand was on fire, but he didn't care. Dane was so close…

Slowly, warily, Atton and Garn moved closer to the door. "Open it," Atton said, mindful to keep a good three paces between himself and the Mandalorian. Garn complied and the door slid open.

Atton spared only a quick glance into the room, knowing that Garn was ready to spring on him at any sign of weakness. The sight he saw, in that quick second, was enough. He saw a bundle wrapped in a bloody sheet lying on the bed, a wisp of blond hair and a bloodied hand. Atton assumed the worst and the hand holding the blaster trembled.

"I should have killed you out there on the street," Garn said.

"Yeah, you're right," Atton replied hoarsely, "You should have," he said and shot the blaster again and again and again as the engines of the _Affliction _hummed to life, preparing to take all onboard to Manaan.

It was Raff O'Bannon's final command.

* * *

**NOTES TO REVIEWERS:**

Well, well, well, you all certainly came to a consensus about wanting Raff dead. LOL. I **really **hope this chapter satisfies. Of course, Atton's notdone yet but at least nowhe's had a chance to get some things off his chest. :)

**To LadyJenna**: I'm really touched by your review. That is quite a compliment and I hope the rest of the chapters live up to it.

To everyone else, thank you for taking the time to tell me what you think about this. It really helps when you go in to some detail about what works and what doesn't.You guys are the best and thanks again.

Up next,Atton and Co.get off O'Bannon's ship, but not exactly as they planned.


	20. A Reunion of Sorts

Chapter 20 

**A Reunion of Sorts…**

Atton fired the blaster into Garn's body until his hand simply gave up. The strength went out of it and the blaster fell to the ground. The Mandalorian was hardly recognizable anymore—Atton had concentrated his fire on the man's implacable face. _Sorry man, _he thought dully. _I did to you what I should have done to O'Bannon…but you had yours coming, didn't you? Oh yes, you did…_Atton tore his gaze away from the smoking ruins of Garn Goransh and turned slowly to the bedchamber.

The bloody bundle on the bed wasn't moving and it took all of Atton's will to take a step forward, then another, and another, until he was beside the bed. His body was weak, he was beyond exhaustion, his hand was a screaming thing attached to his arm, and he was vaguely concerned he might vomit at any moment. _So if she is dead, I'm just going to lay down next to her and go to sleep…_he thought. With a trembling hand, he pulled back the sheet—_tablecloth, _his tired mind amended inanely—and looked at her face. Swift tears sprang to his eyes, unbidden.

"Gods, babe, I'm so sorry," he muttered and knelt beside her. One eye was lost in swelling tissue. Her nose bled from both nostrils, her was lip split, a cut above her other eye smattered blood down her cheek. He stroked her hair—she had always loved, and been comforted by, that small gesture. With tremendous reluctance he let his hand trail down to her throat and felt for a pulse. When he found one—slow and faint, but still there—he let out a long, shaky breath. He waited for the relief to hit him, for the joy that she was alive to soothe him, but they hadn't found them yet. Too much had happened and until she opened her eyes and looked at him, until she said his name, he figured they weren't going to, either. _Have to make her better, _he thought. He hadn't the much strength to heal her, but he tried anyway. He summoned the Force and channeled into her. Nothing happened. _Is she beyond saving? _he wondered and pushed the thought away.

"Dane," he said, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. "Dane, wake up, babe. Come on now, I need you to wake up." He stroked her head again, pulling white-blond wisps of hair that had come loose from her ponytail and had been stuck in the blood that was drying on her face from numerous different sources. "Dane," he said with more urgency. The engines of the _Affliction _had come to life not long ago and Atton was vaguely certain that he needed to hurry before the ship shot into hyperspace. How he was supposed to get her off the ship was another matter entirely. "Wake up, Dane, now, I mean it. We have to go."

Dane stirred under his touch. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment and she said, in a voice no more than a whisper, "Macen?" And then she slipped back into oblivion.

Atton sat back on his heels, a tense expression on his face. "Macen, eh? All right, that's fine," he said tightly. "We can deal with that later."

It was obvious she wasn't going to come around, much less be able to walk and Atton knew they couldn't stay there much longer. He gingerly plucked the contact lens from his eye and flicked it away. He retrieved the orange crystal from one pocket and the photon emitter from the other and tried, with effort, to put his lightsaber back together again, muttering to himself and to Dane all the while to keep focused.

"Okay, this part goes here, and this part here, and—_dammit!_" His right hand was making the process difficult and he had dropped one half of his double-bladed saber to the ground while trying to screw it back together. "That's okay, we'll just try again." Atton somehow managed to put all the pieces in their right place and ignited the lightsaber to test it. Twin blades of orange light emanated from either end of the hilt and he nodded with satisfaction.

"All right, good. It works. I can't _use_ it, but it works," he said and tucked it into his belt. "So, Dane, who is Macen, anyway?" he said in a conversational tone. "A friend of yours or someone I'm going to have to kill? Hmm, Macen," he muttered and stood up.

"I'm Macen," said a voice from behind Atton.

Atton whirled around and, without consideration that he was much too tired, he called upon the Force. Garn's blaster came to him again and he fired a shot at the man standing behind him. Fortunately, the pain in his hand prevented him from getting a clean shot; the blaster-fire streamed past the stranger's face and burned a good-sized hole into the wall behind him.

"Whoa, wait, I'm a friend," the man said, holding up his hands.

Atton kept the blaster trained on the man, his arm shaking with the effort. "Who the hell are you?"

"Macen. I'm Macen," the man repeated in a low voice, keeping his hands where Atton could see them.

"Uh huh, I got that. Dane may have mentioned you, but your name means exactly shit to me right now. For all I know, you had a hand in this," he indicated the bloody bundle on the bed.

"I'm a friend of hers," he said. "I would never hurt her," he added in a softer tone.

Atton didn't know what to do with that. He blinked hard—_Gods, I'm tired,_ he thought and then heard a clanking sound as HK-47 stepped forward, T3-M4 trundling along behind him.

"Overjoyed Statement: Master Jaq! You've found Master Koren!" the droid said and then his head jerked around to survey the scene in the chamber. "And you've exterminated two meatbags. Hopeful Presumption: One of them was O'Bannon?"

"Yeah," Atton said.

"Approving Statement: The carnage of the exterminations you perpetrated on these meatbags is commendable."

"Glad you think so," Atton muttered. He lowered his blaster, his eyes never leaving Macen's. The stranger was dressed in faded trousers and a well-worn, sleeveless tunic. Two heavy blasters were at his waist and something in his stance told Atton he knew how to use them. Macen didn't move, but his eyes were on Dane, and Atton could see worry—and something else—color the man's features.

"Is she…?"

"No," Atton growled.

Macen sighed with relief. "You must be Atton," he said. "She talked about you. A lot."

"Oh, yeah?" Atton muttered with sarcasm. "Well, isn't that something? She and I were just talking about you."

Macen ignored his tone. "She thought you were dead. Garn—" he lightly kicked the Mandalorian's corpse, "told her you were dead. Or maybe O'Bannon did… not that it matters. She didn't take it very well."

Atton put a hand over his eyes and sighed. _Okay, that's not how I'd want it, but we'll deal with that too. Let's just get the hell out of here._

HK must have been processing along the same line for he said, "Obvious Observation: Master Jaq, it is time we removed ourselves from this ship."

"I agree," Atton said, "and stop calling me Jaq. The show is over." He tucked the blaster into his belt. "Let's get the hell off this ship before we end up in Manaan."

"Query: Manaan? Weary Complaint: It seems like only yesterday Master Revan was dragging us to that waterlogged planet. I have no interest in seeing it again."  
Macen whipped his head around. "Revan?" He looked between Atton and HK. "What the…?"  
"There's no time for useless questions," Atton snapped. "Yes, O'Bannon ordered this heap to Manaan and yes, somehow or another, we're all tied to Revan. Don't ask me how, I don't know and I don't care. HK, are there shuttles or escape pods or something that will get us off this blasted ship?"

"Statement: Yes, there are. I have downloaded this ship's schematics. We must traverse down to the third level."

"Fine, let's go," Atton said. He was about to ask about Vogga's men, about Leigh and the siege, but there wasn't time, and truly, he just didn't care. All he wanted was to get Dane off this horrible ship to somewhere safe and sleep for about two weeks. He turned toward her but Macen's words stopped him.

"We can't leave just yet," Macen said.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because they put something on her, an implant. It prevented her from using the Force. She'll go mad if we don't get it off."  
Atton stared at Macen blankly. "They did _what_ ?"

"Here, I'll show you," Macen said and took a step forward, his hands still in the air to show he meant no harm. He leaned over Dane and gently turned her head so that Atton could see the back of her neck and the little black box that was affixed there.

_Oh, babe, not again…_ He remembered Dane talking of being stripped of the Force, of how torturous it was to have it stolen from her. "It is like drowning, like being deprived of air but still living," she had told him. "It is horrible and I almost think I would rather die than lose it again." Atton hadn't the same feelings for the Force and she did—she was so powerful in it, and he was only a dabbler, but now that he had touched it, he couldn't imagine letting it go. _Cowards! _he thought. _Of course, they took the Force from her. Otherwise she would have destroyed the lot of them…_Atton tore his gaze from the repulsive little black box and looked to Macen.

"She must not have taken that well, either," he said dully.

Macen looked at him and smiled thinly. "She's strong. There was a time when I feared she was going to give up, but she never did. At least, she didn't until she was ordered here. And yet, she fought…and she's fighting still," he said and his smile turned gentle when he looked at her unconscious form.

Atton nodded and said nothing. He had a strong feeling that the reason Dane had held out as long as she did was because of Macen, and so when the other man reached out a hand and gently touched Dane's cheek, Atton let him.

"We have to find a Duros named Huvra. He's the bastard that put it on, and he's probably the only one who can take it off," Macen said.

"Impatient Warning: Masterrrr….?"

Atton rubbed his eyes and said, "All right, where would this Duros be?"

Macen shook his head. "I don't know exactly. I've never been much farther than the prison block and the fighting grounds. When I was first brought on board, I was sent to him, though. Initiation torture, I guess," he said with a rueful laugh. "O'Bannon liked to break people and then see if they could put themselves back together again." Macen's eyes darkened but then he shook his head. "Anyway, Huvra does the torturing and he has some kind of lab or med facility, but I couldn't say where."

Atton tried to muster up some kind of empathy for Macen but he wasn't quite able. The best he could do was manage a small, conciliatory smile and say, "That's all right, that's what droids are for. HK, you see any lab or med bay in your schematics?"

"Resentful Reply: Yes, I do, though I hope it is not necessary for me to remind you that being your tour guide through this ship is not my primary function."

"Yeah, all right," Atton said wearily. "We have to get Dane to this Huvra bastard and now." He tried to lift Dane but his hand would not allow it. He forced himself anyway and then there came a sickening snap and he dropped her to the bed with a strangled cry. He cursed violently and channeled small stream of the Force into his hand. It was hardly enough, but he caught his breath.

"You all right?" Macen asked.

"No…stupid bloody…," Atton's words trailed off into a stream of curses. The alarm was still sounding above them and the engines of the _Affliction _were still whirring beneath him and so he went to try again.

"Let me," Macen said, moving between Atton and the bed. He gently picked up Dane's limp body. "Ready."

Atton didn't like that one bit. Helpful or no, he couldn't prevent a current of jealousy running through him. _She said Macen's name when she came to, not yours, _said a snide voice in his mind. But they were seriously running out of time and so he nodded his head once and they headed out of the chamber.

Atton, HK-47, T3, and Macen, carrying Dane, exited Raff O'Bannon's chambers, and all were glad for it—those that were conscious anyway. The air reeked of burnt flesh and stale cigarra smoke. The corpse of Raff himself wasn't pretty to look it either, though Macen, Atton noticed, paused over it, a small, pleased smile on his face.

The hallway outside was littered with the black-clad corpses of Inferno members, the result of HK-47 and Macen's handiwork. Distantly, they could hear blaster-fire and muffled shouting and, more than once, the _Affliction_ listed as though it sat in turbulent waters and not the relative calm of space. _We're moving, _Atton thought with a worried frown. Someone was unskillfully maneuvering the _Affliction_—no doubt exiting the orbit around Nar Shaddaa.

"Statement: The likely laboratory of the Duros is on the second floor, near the prison block," HK informed them.

"Good. We'll stop there, get that thing off Dane's neck and continue down to the docking area," Atton said. No one remarked on the probability of the Duros actually being in his lab with all the chaos in the ship, and Atton didn't allow himself to dwell on it.

With HK-47 and his massive disruptor carbine leading the way, the little party made it as far as the elevator without incident.

"Well, that was easy," Atton remarked with a half-smile as the elevators doors began to slide shut. No sooner had the words left him than an Inferno thug appeared in the hallway and wasted no time in firing his blaster several times. The searing energy slipped into the elevator just as the doors were nearly shut. Atton felt as though something hot had bit his side and he realized he'd been shot. Macen was hit as well--his leg was grazed, singing his trousers and the flesh beneath.

"Son of a…."Atton said, falling to one knee.

"You all right?" Macen asked, gritting his teeth.

"Yeah, you?" Atton said, getting to his feet again before kneeling became too comfortable to his weary body. The blaster shot had ripped through his left side, but he didn't think it too serious. He _hoped _it wasn't too serious.

"I'll live," Macen replied.

Atton restrained himself from snorting derisively. _Smug bastard, _came the uncharitable thought. Aloud he said, "Someone shoot me if I ever say, 'That was easy' ever again," Atton muttered, pressing his ruined hand to his scorched side. "Whoops, too late." He added the small hole in his side to his growing list of 'things that will eventually need tending to' and then forgot all about it. All he could think about was Dane and the only pain he really felt was the pang in his heart whenever he glanced over at her bruised face.

The elevator doors opened and released them onto the second level. The alarms were louder here, but there was no sound of blaster-fire. The party moved cautiously but swiftly after HK. As they neared the prison area, the silence broke and they heard footsteps padding lightly towards them. HK leveled his carbine and nearly took Leigh's head off as the Exchange rogue rounded the corner.

"Curious Observation: Hmm, I missed."

"Dammit! Keep your pets on a leash, would you?" Leigh barked and approached, slower now. "Didn't know if I'd see you again," she told Atton. "I see you found your girl." She looked the small party up and down and let out a low whistle between her teeth. "You all look like hell."

"You don't look so hot yourself," Atton replied. The woman's clothes were streaked with blaster scorching and a cut to her temple streaked her face in a line of blood that ran parallel to her scar.

"Come on, let's walk and talk. There isn't much time."

HK-47 led on, followed by Macen with Dane in his arms. Atton and Leigh fell in step together and T3 brought up the rear.

"Where you headed?" the woman asked.

"To the docking bays to get the hell off this ship…after a short pit stop at a lab, of course, because some son of a bitch put an implant on her—" he nodded ahead at Dane in Macen's arms—"and we have to get it off before she goes crazy."

Leigh nodded. "I see."

"It's not as fun as it sounds. What are you doing?"

"Looking for you. Don't suppose I could convince you to join my guys trying to take the bridge?"

"What's happening?" Atton asked.

"My men have taken out all of O'Bannon's thugs, as near as I can tell, but there's a mini army of security droids traipsing all over the third level on the starboard section, protecting the way to the bridge. My men are trying to get past them to stop the pilots from taking this ship wherever the hell they're trying to take it."

"Manaan," Atton told her.

"Mm, that's not in the plans," Leigh muttered. She looked at him sharply as though a sudden thought occurred to her. "You kill O'Bannon?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Would have liked to have been able to tell Boss I did it, but hey, job's done."

"Knock yourself out, I don't need the credit. Why do you care if it goes to Manaan or not, may I ask?" Atton said. "Get off while you still can. A ship this size has got some warming up to do before it makes the jump to hyperspace. You can still get your men out."

Leigh wore a slightly chagrined expression on her cat-like features. "Well, Vogga wouldn't mind if we kept the _Affliction_ in his immediate vicinity, if you know what I mean."

Atton rolled his eyes. Of course, the hutt wanted the ship of his dead enemy for himself. _That's Exchange for you,_ he thought. "Sorry, but I'm not about to risk my little party here so that your boss can become the new O'Bannon. If you take the ship, more power to you, but we're getting off."

Leigh shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"Statement: If my calculations are correct—which they are, because they came from me—then we have arrived at the Duros' lab."

The party came to a halt outside a large door with a small port in the top. Atton peaked in, blanched at what he saw, and reported to the others that HK had been right.

"Well, here's where we part ways," Leigh said and Atton could read the hesitation in her face and a tiny glint of fear in her eyes. "Sure you won't come? Vogga will reward you—big time—if you help bring in this ship. More credits than you can possibly spend…?"

"I don't need credits," Atton said softly, his eyes going to Dane lying slack in Macen's arms.

"Fine. See ya around," Leigh said and after a lingering look at Atton, padded swiftly down the hall and out of sight.

Atton watched her go and then quickly turned to order T3 to slice open the door. But the little droid was already hard at work and the door slide open. Almost immediately there came a high-pitched shriek and a scuffling sound as something scurried behind a row of plasteel containers.

_The little bastard is in there—some luck,_ Atton thought with relief that was quickly overcome by revulsion and then anger. The laboratory was just that—a place for experimentation and torture. It was small, perhaps only ten by fifteen meters and very dirty. It was lined with shelves of jars containing all manner of disgusting and grotesque body parts of various species. Arrayed around the room on any available space were drugs and the means of injecting them. A tray of obscene tools and instruments sat near the room's centerpiece—a bloodstained slab of a table upon which the Duros enacted his experiments. Atton imagined Dane lying on that slab, helpless and alone, while the O'Bannon's lackeys did whatever it was they did to her, and his vision clouded. Towards the rear of the room, was a stash of plasteel cylinders. Atton, without further ado, grabbed his blaster and stormed into the room, heading for those containers.

With a swift kick, they toppled over to reveal a cowering Duros clutching one of his instruments in his hands. Atton found out too late that it was a shock stick, but, because the alien was crouched on the floor, the current only blazed through his thigh. And because he was nearly mad with rage, Atton didn't feel it anyway. He kicked the shock stick out of the Duros' hand and pressed the blaster to his temple.

"Please…no hurt me," he whimpered to Atton as though he hadn't, only seconds ago, attacked him.

"Get up," Atton said through clenched teeth. Behind him, HK-47 took up a post as sentry at the door while Macen gently laid Dane down on the slab. Slowly, the Duros got to his feet and Atton pulled back the blaster enough to let the alien walk forward. _Don't blow his brains out…yet, _he thought.

"You put that thing on her neck?" Atton demanded.

The Duros whimpered again. "Boss…he made me. He made me do it. Huvra no want to but boss said—"

"Cut the shit," Atton spat. "You can take it off?"

Huvra nodded, eyeing Macen and HK-47 in turn with wide eyes.

"Then do it," Macen said in a low, dangerous tone. His hand rested on one of two heavy blasters at his waist and he drummed his fingers meaningfully on it.

"This ship go soon…no time, no time," Huvra whined but his words cut off in a choke as Macen gripped him around the throat and actually lifted him off the floor. "Okay…I…do it," the alien gasped and Macen released him abruptly.

The Duros hissed at Macen and rubbed his neck. "Need space," he complained, as he was sandwiched in between Atton and Macen. "Please…"

Atton, his blaster in his left hand, steady and trained on the Duros' temple, began to move to the other side of the slab. He paused to murmur in Huvra's ear, "If anything happens to her…if you harm her in any way, there will be nothing left of you but a scorch mark on the floor, you got me?"

Huvra's eyes widened further and he nodded. Atton stepped around to the other side of the slab, his blaster never lowering an inch and the Duros got to work.

Macen carefully turned Dane over so that she lay on her stomach and pulled down the blood-stained table clothe to reveal the black box imbedded in the skin of her neck, just at the base of her skull.

Huvra picked up a nasty-looking instrument that resembled a pair of tongs, only small and pronged at the end. Watching intently every move the Duros made, Atton saw the prongs fit into two small slots, one on either side of the implant. Huvra snapped them into place, the noise making Atton jump. Holding the tongs in place with one hand, the Duros reached to the tray beside him and picked up what looked like an ice pick. Atton felt a cold sweat break out over his skin as the Duros laid the point of the ice pick into the center of the implant and began to twist.

"What the hell are you doing?" Atton demanded in a breathless tone.

"Please, please," Huvra whined. "I unlock implant. I unlock it…" he repeated and Atton heard a small sound that sounded like 'snik.' The Duros replaced the ice pick on the tray and grasped the tongs in both hands. Slowly, carefully, he pulled upwards. Atton's stomach rolled as four barbed pieces of metal—the means by which the implant was affixed to her spine and resembling fishhooks in size and thickness—came out of Dane's neck. A few drops of blood welled in their place. Huvra, the implant still grasped in the tongs, gave it a longing look and a mournful sigh before setting it aside.

"Is she all right?" Atton asked Macen. He still held his blaster trained on Huvra and wasn't about to stop until he knew, one way or another…

Macen laid two fingers on Dane's neck, feeling for a pulse. He made as though to speak when suddenly Dane drew in a sharp intake of breath, as though she had been holding it a great long while. Her eyes did not open, but she kept taking deep breaths, one after the other, and Atton felt the Force grow strong in her. Lying on her stomach, the lacerations on her back were stark and upsetting, but suddenly, the cuts began to close as her skin mended itself. Not all were healed completely, but enough. Her face was toward Macen and that man watched—wide-eyed—as the bruises faded, the bleeding ceased, and the swelling diminished.

Dane kept breathing more and more steadily, taking in more and more of the Force, until finally her eyes opened and she slowly sat up to face Macen, her back to Atton. She looked to Macen, to HK and T3 at the door and then finally to Huvra who was backing away slowly and whimpering.

"Huvra," Dane said, her voice smooth and low and sounding very dangerous. "I remember you," she said and in the next instant the Duros went flying into the air to crash heavily into a shelf. Jars of body parts shattered at the impact and rained glass and their grisly contents over his body as he slumped to the ground.

Atton let his arm drop and he slumped against the wall. _Gods be thanked, _he thought and closed his eyes as the relief he had been waiting for washed over him at last…

…Dane watched as the Duros crashed into the wall of shelves. The Force-push was not as strong as she would have liked, but then she was still weak. She looked at Macen and smiled. He was smiling down at her and she didn't hesitate to jump down off the slab she was sitting on and embrace him.

"Thank you," she murmured. The Force was back. She felt it in every particle of her being and she reveled in it. The constant buzz in her ears and the maddening itch were gone, replaced by that wondrous energy. She felt like a cipher that had finally been filled and she couldn't help but laugh as she hugged Macen tighter.

"I didn't do it alone," Macen said, with a tinge of regret in his voice.

"Overjoyed Statement: Master! I am pleased you have returned to us. And pleased too, that you began your return with a nicely executed extermination of the Duros meatbag."

Dane shook her head at the droid, smiling ruefully. "And T3 is here," she remarked with a wider smile for the little droid. T3 bwooped gleefully in return.

"Uh, and…" Macen began, but Dane had frozen, her breath catching in her throat.

_I sense him…_ she thought vaguely and turned slowly around.

"Hiya, sweets. It's really damn good to see you."

Atton was leaning against the wall. Atton was smiling at her with unshed tears in his eyes. Atton was _alive_.

"What?" Dane said without thinking. "Some trick…" But no, if her eyes were trying to lie to her, there was no denying what she felt through the Force. He looked different—dressed in black leather, his hair slicked away from his face. He was beyond exhausted and injured as well, she sensed, but…_But gods, he's alive. _"Would you leave us for a moment?" Dane heard herself ask the others. After a moment's hesitation, Macen complied, taking the droids with him. They did not shut the door, but stood at a respectful distance away from it.

"You're not going to slug me, are you?" Atton asked with a weak laugh. "I seem to get that lately from women who are looking at me the way you are now."  
Dane shook her head, wordlessly. So many emotions washed through her, she couldn't speak. It was like a dream, him standing there with a tired, but crooked grin and so much love for her in those gray-green eyes of his…

"Atton…?"  
"Come here, babe," he said. "Please…before I keel over right here."

Dane nodded, tears filling her own eyes and she stepped towards him. He reached out his left hand and touched her cheek. "Let me look at you," he said gruffly and laid his other hand—black-gloved and hot to the touch—on her other cheek. "So beautiful…"

"They told me you were dead," Dane whispered.

"I know, sweets, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for all of this…"

"Sssh," Dane admonished and laid her trembling hands on his chest. She felt his heart beat then. That steady thump affirmed what every other sense was telling her—and the relief and love that she had been holding back flooded through every part of her and she gently laid her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tightly to her. She felt his arms go around her shoulders and they stood that way for long moments.

Dane listened to the beat of his heart in her ear and she closed her eyes, reveling in the sound…until her thoughts, cold and practical, filtered in, sounding suspiciously like Kreia. _He is alive. This is your second chance to do right by him, to protect him from the dangerous paths your are now free to follow. Do not make the same mistake again…you may not have another opportunity to save him. _Another, desperate thought came that he had saved her, but she could not—would not—go through the pain of losing him again, not when she could prevent it.

Atton was pushing her gently away so that he could kiss her. If he did that, then she knew her resolve would fall away and so she turned her head, tears coursing down her cheeks as she did so.

"We have to hurry," she said, pulling away and wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. "I sense that we are still in danger and that this ship is preparing to move. Can you walk?"

"Yeah," Atton said, and there was no denying the confusion—and a little bit of anger—creeping into his voice. "Of course, I can walk. But—"

"Then let's go. Let's get off this ship before it is too late."

"Is that really what you want to say to me right now?" Atton asked, his voice low.

Dane shook her head, her tears coming again. "No, not at all. But I'm scared, Atton. I love you but—"  
"I love you too, babe," Atton said, and laughed a relieved little laugh. "Come here and—"  
"No, you don't understand what…_happened_," Dane said, stepping away from him.

"Did that bastard touch you, Dane?" Atton asked with sudden ferocity. "Because if he did—if he laid a hand on you, I swear I'll go back and kill him all over again."

"No, he didn't," Dane said. _This is how we will die…standing here professing our love. There is no time! _She hardened her heart and dried her tears. "We'll talk later. It's time to move. Now."

Atton only looked at her for a second and Dane had to turn away from his gaze. His eyes had grown cold and she sensed his emotions—anger, shock, and pain, a lot of pain—and it nearly undid her to know that she was causing them. _After everything he has done for you…_said one voice. _Keep to the Code, _came the other, _or else his life may be forfeit. _And so she said nothing when every particle of her being screamed the opposite.

"Yeah, all right," he said after a moment, as though he had come to some sort of resigned conclusion. "Let's get out of here. But Dane," he suddenly grabbed her arm none-too-gently, "I know what you're doing and it won't work. We can't start over again from the beginning. You know that, right? We can't go back to how it used to be. I'll let it go for now because we _do_ need to get off this gods-forsaken ship, but I'm not going to give up so easily."

Dane recoiled at the anger in his eyes that masked the pain beneath and nodded, slipping her arm out of his grasp. They emerged from the laboratory and stood apart from one another, though Dane could feel his eyes on her. Macen cleared his throat in the silence.

"Query: Shall we proceed to the docking bay?" HK-47 asked in a jovial tone that, of course, was completely out of place in the tense atmosphere created by Dane and Atton.

"Yes," Dane said after a moment. She sensed that Atton had been leading the party—_leading the dangerous rescue mission to save your ungrateful self,_ came the thought—and she would resume her role carefully. But Atton said nothing and continued to say nothing. "Yes," she said in a stronger voice. "Do you know the way?"

"Condescending Reply: Of course, master. Despite my best efforts, as of late my primary function has been tour guide through this ridiculous barge. Why cease now?"

"Fine, then just take us there," Dane ordered.

"Submissive Response: Yes, master."

But the little party took only one step when there came—as all knew there must—the whirring of the _Affliction's _engines as they were revved to prepare for the jump into hyperspace. The ship keeled violently and it became clear that whatever battle was occurring on the bridge—whoever was at the helm—was losing control.

The humans were knocked off their feet while T3 rolled until he hit the wall and then toppled over. Only HK-47 managed to keep his footing.

Atton pulled the comlink out of his sleeve. "Dustil! Dustil can you read me?" To himself, he muttered, "It's too late."

Dane wondered briefly who Dustil as she tried to get to her feet.

There was a crackling sound and a young man's voice, sounding tinny through the comlink, came on.

"I'm here, Atton. What do you need?"

"You, up here, now," Atton barked. "The ship is going—"

The _Affliction _listed again and Atton scrambled, rolling to crash heavily against the wall. HK-47 finally lost his footing and toppled over in a tangle of rust-red limbs.

"Manaan!" Atton shouted above the roar of the engines, above the ceaseless blaring of the alarms that were still announcing the presence of intruders long after anyone was left alive to do anything about it. "Manaan! We're going to Manaan! Dammit—"

And then Atton's breath was _whooshed_ out of him as the _Affliction_ shot into hyperspace…

* * *

**NOTES TO REVIEWERS:**

I see you all were happy that Raff got his. (Blood thirsty animals!) :) But I'll miss that crazy bastard. He was fun to write--for a sadistic creep. Please oplease don'thateDane after this one.The poor girl's been through a lot andshe's a little confused right now. ;)

Reviewer Poll:

I'm going to end Part I after the next chapter. Do I start a whole new story called Resolutions Part II,or do I keep going on the same one. Yourthoughts?

**To Miss Becky:** Thank you thank you thank you. We like loooong reviews, oh yes we do. hint hint Your support is appreciated (from one writer to another) so thank you for your kinds words and I won't stop until its done.

**To demonessjo:** I'm so glad you like it! Action scenes are tough for me so I'm glad to know that it wasn't confusing.

**To Jess:** Yes, O'Bannon is dead. (sigh) But, c'est la vie and I've got another baddie or two (or three) up my sleeve that hopefully you'll hate as much as ole Raff.

**To Dragon Scales:** I LOVE that Kill Bill song! I should play it next time I have to write a scene like that...putme in the mood. ;)

**To Kuramas Girl Angel: **LOL. I'm glad you like this but dancing a jig for Raff's death? Come on, he wasn't THAT bad...was he?

**To Magenta:** Thank you for your review. I was worried Raff's death wasn't exciting enough but I didn't want another fight scene--he just had one with Dane. I like that he died as he lived--suddenly and really pissed off.

**To Battousie:** Whew...thanks! I'm really touched by your review. That is really the goal, I think, to put the reader right there and make them feel something for each character. Thank you and I hope you keep reviewing!

**To gekkeiju: **Thank you! This chap is my favorite so far but I'm glad you liked 19. You've been with me since the beginning! cheers for gekkeiju

**To Revan's Pet Duck:** You crazy girl. HK will dedicate his next annihilation of a meatbag to you. ;)


	21. Crash

**Chapter 21 **

**Crash…**

Mission was bored.

No, that wasn't quite right. She was distracted. She sat at a table in the main hold of the _Ebon Hawk_, Pazaak cards strewn all over it between her and Zaalbar. The Twi'lek was only half-focused on her game with the Wookie. The rest of her attentions kept meandering towards the cockpit. Specifically, towards Dustil Onasi in the cockpit. Mission absently played a plus-or-minus four card from her sidedeck, bringing her total to twenty over Zaalbar's sixteen. The Wookie's low grumble pulled her attention back abruptly—she had forgotten to let him win. It was generally considered a good idea to let a Wookie win every now and again—best friend or no.

_Just concentrate on the game, _Mission thought to herself. _He's a Jedi after all—who knows if he can sense my thoughts or something?_

As if on cue, Dustil emerged from the cockpit and leaned against the doorway to the main hold, a self-assured grin on his handsome features. "Who's winning?"

"I am," Mission said and gave Zaalbar an apologetic smile. "Do you play?" she asked Dustil.

"I've been known to play a game or two. Deal me in."

"You got a sidedeck?" Mission inquired, shuffling her own prized deck.

"I'll just borrow Zaalbar's," Dustil replied, taking a seat at the table across from her.

"_Watch her,"_ Zaalbar growled lightly, rising from the table. _"She cheats."_

"I do not!" Mission called after his retreating form as the Wookie undoubtedly had gone off in search of something to eat. "I do not…cheat," she muttered to Dustil, embarrassed.

Dustil was laughing good-naturedly and he said, "I believe you. But, just in case, I'm going to keep a close eye on you."

Mission didn't mind that one bit and she smiled as Dustil took Zaalbar's seat across from her.

She marveled at the change in Carth's son since she'd seen him last. Gone was the angry, resentful boy she met on Korriban, and in his place was a confident, happy—_and gorgeous,_ Mission thought suddenly—young man. _I guess being a Jedi did that for him,_ she thought. _Except for the gorgeous part. That's just good genes. _

Mission glanced up from shuffling her sidedeck to see that Dustil was watching her with a bemused look on his face and one arched eyebrow raised.

"What?" Mission asked.

"I was just thinking that I'm pretty sure your sidedeck is good and shuffled."

Mission blushed and quickly drew four cards from it. Dustil did the same from his sidedeck—Zaalbar's sidedeck—and the game began.

"So how is Car—er, your dad? I mean, you told me a little before—about he and Bastila working together on…something," Mission said awkwardly.

"Dad's doing fine," Dustil replied and Mission couldn't read a hint of residual anger or resentment in his demeanor. "He and Bastila are working on all kinds of projects. I mean, he has his duties with the fleet, but he's also involved in the Telos restoration project. His work keeps him real busy, so I hardly see him, but then, I've been busy too," he added with a proud smile.

"I guess so," Mission laughed. "When did you become a Jedi?" Her count was fourteen to his twelve. She drew a two and an unladylike snort of disgust escaped her. Sixteen was the worst.

"Not long after I left Korriban. I was kind of…_lost,_ for awhile after…" Dustil's words trailed and for the first time, Mission saw the cocky demeanor slip to be replaced by something close to shame. _He's thinking about he almost became a Sith, _Mission thought. _He's so different now…I can't imagine it!_

"Anyway, I wasn't doing too well; Dad and I had a lot of fights." He drew a seven and stood on his nineteen.

"Was it then Juhani took you on as her Padawan? I'm sorry," Mission added quickly. "I shouldn't pry, but I can't help it. I'm pretty talkative, you know?"

Zaalbar, passing through the room on his way to the other half of the ship, put in that he knew all too well how talkative she was. Mission shot him a dirty look.

"You know what I mean," she said to Dustil. "I don't want to pry."

"It's all right. I don't mind," Dustil replied. "But to answer your question, no, Juhani wasn't a master at that time. Revan trained me."

Mission's eyes widened and she absently drew another card instead of using one from her sidedeck and promptly lost the round with a twenty-six. "What _happened_ to Arax…to Revan?" After knowing her all the time they searched for the Star Maps as Arax Saraan, Mission still had a hard time thinking of Revan as Revan.

Dustil's handsome features darkened as he shuffled the main deck.

"I don't know. After everything was over and Malak was dead, she seemed pretty…happy. She and my dad were happy. He was instantly promoted and they were both honored by anyone who could forge a medal." He looked up at her. "Well, you know. You were there, right?"  
Mission shrugged. "Yeah, but I didn't really feel like I belonged. I was still the kid tagging along, so me and Big Z left a little while after it was over."

Dustil leaned forward over the table, meeting her gaze and holding it intently. "Dad told me, more than once, how he and Revan would have never made it off Taris if it hadn't been for you."

That compliment meant more to her than Dustil knew, but the mention of Taris made it a bittersweet one. _After all this time, it still hurts,_ she thought with a soft sigh.

"I saw you at once of those endless dinners and awards ceremonies," Dustil continued. "You were wearing a dark green dress—that was pretty short, I might add—with a darker green…I don't know what you'd call it…scarf-thing."

"Shawl?" Mission offered, not quite able to look at him yet.

"Yeah, that's it," he said. "You looked beautiful."

Mission glanced up quickly. No one, in all her twenty-one years, had ever said that to her before. The fact it came from Dustil sent a tingle down her spine. "I don't remember seeing you there," she said lamely.

"I kept out of sight in those days. I was still pretty mad then. Angry with Dad. Angry with Revan. Angry with Dad _and _Revan. I wasn't very good company," he said with a short laugh. "But, I watched from the side and noticed things," he added, his eyes glinting in the meager light of the _Hawk's _hold.

"Like what?"

"Like how short your dress was."

"So, Revan trained you?" Mission asked, quickly steering the conversation away from green dresses and how she may or may not have looked in them.

"Yes," Dustil said, with a knowing smile. Mission could tell he knew what she was doing and was gentleman enough to let the subject drop. "Yeah, Revan trained me. She didn't even ask me if I wanted to become a Jedi, or if I could feel the Force, or anything. One day, about three months after it was all over, she just came into my room and said, 'Dustil, let's you and I take a walk.'" Dustil laughed and shook his head at the memory. "So we took a walk and she began my training right there and then. She knew before I did…but that's Revan for you."

"Knew what?" Mission asked. Her count was nineteen and she stood. Dustil's was twenty-one. He laid a minus one card down from his sidedeck but she didn't care about the game anymore.

"My purpose," he said and then laughed ruefully. "I was going to be a Sith," he said with obvious disgust. "I was filled with so much anger and pain and every other emotion that paves a path straight to the Dark Side. Revan showed me the way out. She showed me how to find the Force within myself, how to understand it, and how to control it." He smiled broadly. "And I became pretty good at it."

Mission rolled her eyes at his conceit but couldn't help returning his smile. _He makes me want to smile all the time,_ she thought and cleared her throat even though it didn't need clearing. "How did Carth take it? You being a Jedi and all?"

"He took it fine," Dustil replied, "because I stopped hating him once I began my training." He lowered his gaze. "I wasn't…I wasn't very nice to him for a long time. I thought it was his fault, what happened to my mother, and I was really angry with him for leaving us. There always seemed to be some battle, some mission, or just something _else _that took priority over us. I see now that he was only doing what he felt he had to do to protect the galaxy, but I joined the Sith because I couldn't think of a bigger slap in the face. I became what he hated most because I knew that would hurt him the most. But, stupid me, Dad thought I was dead. I wasn't hurting anyone but myself. When Revan made me a Jedi, all that old anger fell away and Dad and I…were _better_."

There was a silence between them that Mission didn't quite know what to do with. She was a little bit overwhelmed that he was sharing these thoughts with her and so she blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. "Thank you."

Dustil looked up. "Huh?"

"Thank you for telling me this," she said. "We just met and all, and it's nice that you feel that you could, you know, tell me all that," she mumbled, feeling slightly foolish. But the smile Dustil laid on her told her she had said the right thing.

"Thank you for letting me tell it," he replied softly. "You're very easy to talk to, Mission."

_And you're very easy to look at, Dustil,_ she thought and nearly giggled. "I'm glad," she said aloud. _Why do I feel so happy all of a sudden?_ she wondered. Dustil was still looking at her intently with those soft brown eyes of his. "What?" she asked slowly.

"Nothing. I don't know," Dustil said and shook his head, looking suddenly…_shy. _"You asked me what happened to Revan and I started jabbering about myself. It's a bad habit, I know, but I'm working on it," he said and flashed her one of his charming smiles, his shyness gone.

Mission didn't want to talk about Revan anymore, but there seemed to be no help for it. "Did she fall to the Dark Side?" she asked with a shiver.

Dustil's smile faded. "I don't know. Things were going along fine—I hadn't seen my dad so happy since mom died, and I was happy for him, for a change. He really loved Revan," he said and paused for a moment before continuing. "But then something began to change in her."

"How?" Mission asked, now engrossed in his words. 'That was Revan for you,' is what Dustil had said earlier and it was just as true now. Something about the woman was inescapable. Conversations were built around her even thousands of light-years away, and while Mission could spend all night talking about Dustil, she was also impelled to talk about Revan. The Twi'lek thought Revan was rather like a black hole: all things, eventually, were drawn to her. _Like me again, _she thought. _I thought I was done but now I'm being pulled back in. _

"She became distant and cold," Dustil was saying. "While speaking, she would sometimes break off in mid-sentence and pause, as though listening to something only she could hear. I think it was the Force she was listening to—like she could hear, or maybe feel that something was wrong. It got worse and worse. She stopped training me. Juhani was a Master by then so she took me as her Padawan. Revan didn't seem to notice or care. She and Dad would get in horrible fights and then one day she was gone." Dustil's eyes darkened and bitterness crept into his words. "She left Dad a note…after all that, one stupid note and that was it. Did she fall to the Dark Side again? I don't know, but causing my father that much pain seems like a step in that direction. I just hope she had her reasons, though I don't know that we'll ever find out what they were."

Mission didn't say anything for a moment. She didn't know exactly what Dane Koren was trying to accomplish by finding Revan, but the Twi'lek thought Dane and Dustil should have a chat. Thinking of Dane brought Mission back to the present and she looked at her wrist chrono.

"It's getting late," she commented. "I hope everything's okay. With Atton, I mean."

Dustil nodded and furrowed his brow. He his head as though _he _was listening to something only he could hear. "Something…" he muttered and then the comlink in his sleeve crackled suddenly to life.

"Dustil! Dustil, can you read me?" came Atton's voice, under a cacophony of noise that sounded like an alarm.

Dustil and Mission exchanged wide-eyed glances. "I'm here, Atton, what do you need?" Dustil returned.

There was more crackling and then Atton came on again, "You, up here, now! The ship is going—"

The transmission gave way to more static and Dustil jumped to his feet. "Strap yourself in," he said to Mission and raced to the . Mission heard Atton's voice, frantic and loud, come through Dustil's comlink one last time before the Jedi was around the corner and out of sight.

_Manaan?_ Mission thought, trying to fasten her seatbelt with trembling hands. Atton's sudden distress call had jolted her back to reality and she was suddenly terrified. She nearly had the belt latched when Zaalbar's roar sounded from another part of the ship only to be drowned out by the roaring of the _Hawk's _engines coming to life.

"What was that?" Dustil shouted from the .

"I don't know!" Mission shouted back, grabbing her vibroblade, "but I have to find out!"

"No! Mission--!" Dustil, still in the , was shouting a warning but it was too late. A heavy, thick arm snaked around Mission's neck, choking her, and she felt the cool metal of a blaster laid against her temple.

"Drop it," said a man's voice in her ear. The Twi'lek felt the bristles of his beard against her cheek and smelled the faint, stale odor of cigarra on her assailant's breath. She reluctantly dropped her vibroblade and concentrated on getting enough air to breathe. A dark shadow streaked past, heading for the and Mission just saw the bright orange spot on the shadow's sleeve. _Dustil, no!_ She tried to call out a warning but she hadn't the wind to do it. From the port dormitory came the sounds of battle—Zaalbar's roar and the grunts of his opponent or opponents. _What's happening? _her frantic mind shouted. Mission's heart was thumping loudly in her chest—it had been a good long time since she had seen battle herself and she was nearly paralyzed with fear.

"Hold tight, _schutta_," the man grunted into her ear. The Inferno thug, like her, was waiting for the results of the battle in the . Mission strained to listen but she heard nothing—no sound at all from that room. A moment later another shadow streaked into the main hold and Mission saw, with vast relief, that this one had no orange mark on his sleeve, but held a glowing blue lightsaber in his hands.

"Let her go," Dustil commanded. _He's not even out of breath,_ Mission marveled and then quickly forced herself to focus on the situation at hand: She had a blaster aimed at her head and an increasingly desperate man holding it there. Zaalbar emerged from the port dormitory bearing a singed arm and a bloody vibroblade. Mission's assailant backed up until he was at the doorway to the little compartment HK-47 and Mira used to hang out in, had the Twi'lek known it.

"Easy now," Dustil replied. "Just let her go and you've bought yourself passage off this ship."

Mission's face—already blue—turned a deeper shade as the man tightened his chokehold on her. "Shut up, Jedi," the man sneered. "I'm the one holding the ticket, remember?" He pressed his blaster harder against her temple. "Take the Wookie and get off _my_ ship or I'll spray her brains all over_ my _wall."

Mission saw Dustil tighten his grip on his lightsaber while Zaalbar was growling in that menacing way he did right before he ripped someone's arms off.

"Let's talk this over," Dustil replied and released one hand from the lightsaber to hold it out in a placating manner. Mission knew what he was doing and tensed herself for whatever Force power he was going to throw at them. But the Inferno thug recognized Dustil's intentions as well for he snarled and Mission felt the pressure on her temple vanish as the man said, "Play with this, Jedi," and fired his blaster several times, his targets the steel walls, ceilings, and fixtures of the _Ebon Hawk. _He then ducked into the little room dragging Mission with him as the blasterfire ricocheted around the room in chaotic bursts of energy.

Mission didn't know if Dustil and Zaalbar were able to avoid being hit but she was suddenly enraged at the possibility that they were not. As her assailant had swung around the corner, his grip around her neck loosened enough for her to get a good gulp of air. Some strength returned and she wasted no time in driving her elbow into the stomach of the thug as hard as she could. Mission was short, her opponent tall. Her elbow connected perfectly to that soft spot right under a person's ribcage where the diaphragm sits. Instantly, the man doubled over, the air expelled from his lungs in a great _whoosh_. He still clutched the blaster but it was a simple matter for Mission to kick it from his hand. It went skittering across the little room and she dove after it. The thug, still gasping, dove too and landed on top of Mission just as she wrapped her fingers around the blaster's grip. His hand came down on hers and they wrestled for a moment. But Mission was a slippery little thing and she twisted her wrist so that that blaster was hers and then twisted her body so that she was facing her attacker—his own blaster trained on his face. Just as she pulled the trigger, the thug knocked her hand aside and the shot went wide, sending the blade of energy ricocheting around theroom. It ended its romp in a shower of sparks at some wall unit Mission vaguely hoped wasn't important.

"You won't get that shot again," the thug warned and grabbed Mission's wrists with one hand and struck her in the face with the other. Mission saw stars…and then lightening—blue lightening as Dustil's lightsaber was leveled a mere inch from the thug's nose. The Twi'lek was scared out of her mind, panicked, and now reeling from the blow she had taken. She didn't know that Dustil's weapon had finally subdued her opponent and that the thug was slowly backing off her. All she knew was that his hand wrestling for the blaster eased off and so Mission gripped it with both hands and fired.

The heavy weight of the thug's body fell away from hers and she sat up, gasping hard and crying. She held the blaster in trembling hands and did not take its aim off the dead man lying on the floor. _I killed him. Oh, gods, I killed him…_

"Hey," came Dustil's voice in her ear, soft and soothing, as he knelt beside her. "It's all right now. You can put the blaster down. It's all right." Slowly, he reached out his hand and took the blaster form her. "Are you all right? Can you stand?"

Mission nodded. It had been a long time since she had killed anyone. Part of the reason she had left Coruscant and begun a shelter on Nar Shadaa was so that she wouldn't have to take another life. With naïve ideas, she had joined Dane, not thinking of what it might mean. She let Dustil pull her to her feet and then she started to sob in earnest. His arms went around her and she buried her face against his soft robes. She was instantly comforted and the thought that he smelled really good surfaced through her fear. But all too quickly he was pulling her away and he held her gently by the arms.

"You're okay now, hey?" he murmured, wiping a tear from cheek. "You did real good, but we have to go now. Atton needs us, okay?"

Mission nodded again and wiped her eyes. She took a steadying breath and looked to Zaalbar. "You all right, Big Z?" she asked with a shaky breath.

"_Fine,_" the Wookie replied and then said to Dustil, "_I'll check out the rest of the ship."_

"No need," Dustil replied. "They're gone… I don't sense any more. I should've sensed these three but I was a little distracted," he said with a wink and a smile for Mission that sent her heart to thudding all over again. "Strap yourselves in," he ordered them, racing back to the . "I have a feeling our little stowaways cost us the time we needed. We may be headed for Manaan."

Mission resumed her seat and strapped herself in, mindful of the fact there were three dead bodies on the _Hawk _with them. Zaalbar sat down beside her and she laid her head against the Wookie's furry arm for comfort. She found herself remembering Dustil's embrace and was a little ashamed that she would have traded her friend's tried and true comfort for the young Jedi's any day.

The engines of the _Ebon Hawk_ thrummed louder and Mission felt the ship lift off the ground and sail into space under Dustil's skilled command. _There may be more fighting yet,_ she told herself. _Don't let Dustil down and turn all cowardly. _She wasn't all excited about the prospect of docking the _Hawk _on Raff O'Bannon's barge and fighting a slew more Inferno members, but she decided she would do it for the Jedi. And Mission marveled at the growing list of things she would do for the Jedi…

* * *

The jump into hyperspace was rocky and turbulent and didn't much improve after the _Affliction_ came out of it. The ship listed and bumped along and it was clear that whoever was piloting it was either inept or busy doing something else—like fighting for his life. HK-47 had briefly explained to Dane what was occurring as they hurried toward the bridge. The plan to find escape pods was now a moot one as Nar Shaddaa was now light-years away, and so it had been decided it was better hurry to the flight deck and help Leigh and her men—if only to keep the _Affliction _aloft.

Dane had said little as the assassin droid had described their predicament—she was dazed, and more than a little numb, from all that had happened—and was still happening—over the last few days. Without time to recover, she had instantly taken up where she had left off, as the leader of the party, even though her mind was unfocused and her body weakened by all that she had had to endure. The fact that O'Bannon was dead had no meaning for her yet. She cared only that the Force was returned to her and that Atton was alive.

Atton was alive.

She and HK-47 had taken up the rear so that he might get her up to speed on recent events, and so Dane had the perfect vantage from which to keep her eyes on Atton. _He is injured,_ she realized with a pang of guilt. Without thinking about what she was doing, she left HK in mid-sentence and quickened her pace until she was beside Atton. She laid her hand on his arm and channeled the Force, but before the healing energy could find him, Atton pulled away from her touch.

"I'm fine," he said coldly, not looking at her.

"You're hurt," she replied in a soft voice that was nearly drowned by the incessant bleating of the ship's alarm systems.

"I'll live," he returned.

"Atton, please—" she began but he stopped and rounded on her. He looked so tired.

"Now what, Dane? Now everything is fine again? You can't just talk to me like you did and then…"his words trailed off in frustration and he shook his head. "This isn't over yet. Once we get off this ship—_if _we get off this ship—then you can try to explain to me your master plan and just where in the hell I fit into it. Until then, just…," he sighed and the hardness in his eyes softened as he looked at her. "For now, just leave me alone."

_I deserved that,_ Dane thought, watching as Atton resumed his limping jog behind Macen and T3. _But, gods help me, I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do…_ The _Affliction _listed again as though to suggest that what she needed to do was hurry and get to the bridge. HK-47 clanked up beside her.

"Urging Statement: Come, Master. My deductions of the schematics show we are quite near the flight deck…Ahh, yes. I can hear the glorious sounds of battle now."

Sure enough, the sounds of blasterfire, the shouting of men, and the mechanical clanging of droids in motion could be heard below the din of the alarm. Macen, running point, halted the party. They had arrived at a long, wide hallway that led to the _Affliction's_ bridge. Bursts of red and a showering of sparks flashed at the other end, accompanied by the sounds of men fighting—and of men dying. The party approached cautiously and paused at the doorway to the bridge where they could all get a good look at the scene inside.

The bridge was rectangular in design with one end harboring the ship's controls and the other end being the doorway Dane and her party stood. In between was total chaos. Fifteen security droids had taken up positions at the rear of the bridge, closest to the entrance. They exchanged fire with a ragged group of men at the helm and everyone in Dane's party saw both Inferno thugs and Vogga's rogues fighting together against the droids. The droids, apparently, couldn't distinguish between one bio-form from another and fired relentlessly at both. Black-clad bodies lay side by side with Vogga's men, their eyes wide and staring and all of them sporting black, smoking holes in their chests or heads. Dane tore her eyes from the sight and looked to the helm where men still lived. She saw then why the _Affliction_ was suffering so badly—the droids blasterfire, more often than not, found the ship's navicomputer and other assorted controls that were necessary to fly the immense barge.

"There's Leigh…and Kellen," Atton muttered—names Dane didn't know. "All right, let's do this. Macen, cover me and HK—"

"No," Dane said, stepping forward. She eyed her party with a commanding stare Bao-Dur would have recognized instantly. "Cover _me_," she ordered and stepped onto the bridge.

Dane called upon the Force, as much as she could handle and then leveled it at the security droids. One after another, she sent the Force's energy out—pushing it out with commanding gestures of her hand—conferring destruction on every droid she set her sights on. The security droids—of a similar make and model to those she battled on Peragus—crumpled into smoking ruins, their arachnid-like limbs splayed out and useless, their blasters quiet. Upon recognizing a new threat, many of them turned from the little band of men at the helm who had been inflicting little damage anyway, and turned their fire onto Dane. The Jedi Master paid no more attention to the blasterfire zinging past her than she would a swarm of gnats. She dodged their fire, sometimes by no more than a slight inclination of her head, and advanced into the room, silencing the droids with the Force. After a few moments, all were annihilated and the only sounds on the bridge was of the alarm and an occasional hiss or spray of sparks geysering out from the remains of Raff O'Bannon's little squadron.

Dane let the Force go and swayed on her feet, instantly dizzy. Strong arms supported her and she smiled, looking up at Atton's face. But no, it wasn't Atton, it was Macen and her heart ached.

"I…I don't know what's wrong with me," she told Macen. "My strength…it comes and goes…"

"You just need to rest," Macen replied and then smiled at her. "It's been a helluva week, hasn't it?" He surveyed the damage around him and whistled low through his teeth. "That was some show you just put on. With that implant they put on you, I hadn't realized…"

Dane returned a weak smile and saw Atton, on his way to the helm, give her a pained look. "I've hurt him," she muttered. "I just want to protect him and instead I just keep hurting him."

Macen's face tightened. He drew her to a chair that was mostly still intact and sat her in it. "Rest here. You'll sort it all out after we get this heap landed, all right?"

"No, I can't, I have to help…have to fight," she muttered, but she was so tired and her mind was replaying the events of the last week in choppy bits and pieces—like the flashbacks she'd had after the war. She closed her eyes, willing them to go away and her hand went instinctively to the place on her neck where the implant was. She felt nothing but dried blood and skin but she rubbed it anyway. The ship listed again, this time violently enough to toss her out of the chair. She landed heavily on the ground. "I have to help," she muttered to no one—Macen was gone. She opened her eyes but they would not focus. She realized her mind was shutting down and taking her body with it. _No, I've endured worse…during the war,_ she thought, arguing with her failing body, but it was no use. The expenditure of the Force on the droids had simply been too much.

Dane stopped fighting and laid her head on the cool floor of the bridge and closed her eyes. Muffled shouts, the alarm, and even the frightening way in which the _Affliction _was suddenly careening through space at a downward angle and at a distinctly unhealthy speed, did not rouse her.

_Have to fight…_

_General, can you hear me?_

_Yes, my friend. I'm so glad…_

_I need you to do something for me, General. _

_I need to fight, to help my friends, to help Atton…but I am so tired, so weak._

_Of course, General and I am so sorry I could not help you._

_But you did, my friend. You always do._

_Not as I would like or am able, but I am going to help you now. You have to get up, General. Get up now and get into the chair._

_So heavy…_

_General, please. You must get in that chair and strap yourself in. Do you understand?_

_Why? Are we going to crash? Gods…Atton! _

_Open your eyes General, find your strength. _

_Don't leave me, Bao-Dur…not again. _

_Find your strength, General. I know you can…_

Dane opened her eyes. She was lying on the floor of the bridge. The blaring alarm was being overwhelmed by the screaming of the _Affliction's _engines and Dane knew at once that the sound, plus the sharp, downward cant to the ship, meant that it was blazing through the outer atmospheres of some planet. _Manaan, _Dane thought. Her body felt like it weighed a thousand kilograms and the velocity of the ship only pressed her harder to the floor. But Bao-Dur's words came to her. _The ship is going to crash, _she thought. With effort, she lifted her head and saw an empty chair before her. She summoned every last bit of strength she had and hauled herself onto it. She paused to catch her breath and heard Atton's voice, shouting something harsh and panicked to someone else. Tears streamed out of her eyes as Dane struggled to sit. _I'm so sorry, love. I have failed you…_ Her vision blurred, her body rattled as the ship streaked through Manaan's atmosphere, and she reached for the seatbelt with trembling hands. Three tries and she was able to latch it. She slipped into darkness then, not knowing that she—and Bao-Dur—had just saved her life.

* * *

Atton watched Dane enter the bridge and proceed to systematically destroy every last security droid in the room. More than once, she narrowly dodged a streak of blasterfire that would have ended her and he lunged out into the bridge to try to protect her…but it was over before he could ignite his lightsaber. Fifteen security droids lay in smoking ruins. Atton blinked and rubbed his chin. _Holy …_ He looked at Dane who swayed and would have fallen… if it hadn't been for Macen catching her. Jealousy and something frighteningly close to hatred gave energy to Atton's tired body and stalked toward the pair, not entirely certain what he would do when he got to them. But a woman's frantic voice calling his name from the helm stopped him and jolted him back to reality. The _Affliction _was out of control and no Exchange member currently sitting at the controls and jabbing at them uselessly was going to be able to do something about it. Atton hurried to the helm, though his eyes couldn't help but look at Dane in Macen's arms. _He got there first, big deal, _Atton thought. _She can do what she wants…I've had it with this game. _

All thoughts of Dane fled as he arrived at the controls of the _Affliction. _Leigh, blood streaming down her face in various rivulets was arguing with Kellen, himself burned more than once by blaster fire. Atton felt a pang of guilt—of all of Vogga's men and all of O'Bannon's men, only Leigh and Kellen remained. _We should have helped, Exchange or no…_

"What's the story here?"

"The ship's navicomputer was programmed to set a course for Manaan," Leigh said breathlessly, the adrenaline of battle no doubt still coursing through her veins. "The droids knocked out any chance of override. We're heading straight there and my pilot was killed by this spacer !" She choked, indicating Kellen. "We can't control it! We're going to crash!"

"None of this would even be happening if you and your men hadn't tried to steal the _Affliction_," Kellen spat and then leveled his gaze at Atton. "And you…I should have killed you after my men went down on Nar Shaddaa."

"Yeah, well, you didn't, so shove over and let me drive," Atton said. He didn't have enough energy to add that it was Kellen who brought Atton on board, but it didn't matter. What did matter was that Kellen was sitting in the pilot's seat. Instead of moving, the man trained his blaster on Atton.

"I don't think so. I think you've done enough…_Jaq."_

"There's no time for this !" Atton barked, his patience hanging by the barest of shreds. Looking out of the viewport, he saw the immense blue blob that was Manaan growing steadily larger.

"Statement: I agree," came a cold, metallic voice and Kellen looked up to see HK-47, Macen, and even the little T3 unit aiming their blasters at him. Kellen reluctantly lowered his weapon and Macen relieved him of it. With an urging from HK and HK's disruptor carbine, the Inferno member slunk into a nearby seat.

"Can you fly this thing?" Leigh asked Atton with wide eyes.

"I'll try," Atton said, taking the seat and hurriedly checking the _Affliction's_ systems. "You were right, the navicomputer is taking us straight to Manaan," he told her. "Coordinates are locked in—there's no changing course now."

"But…you can land it though, right?"

Atton shook his head. "In a manner of speaking," he said dryly. "The droids knocked out about eighty percent of the ship's controls—trajectory, speed, even atmospheric reentry are all out of my hands."

"That doesn't sound good," Macen put in from behind him. Atton spared him a rotten glance but Leigh was tugging on his arm.

"Well, for gods' sake, what _can_ you do?" she demanded.

Atton smiled a tense smile. "I can steer."

The expression on Leigh's face would have been comical had they been in any situation but this one. "Strap in," he told her and then looked around at the others. "Where is Dane?"

"She's back there, probably passed out," Macen said.

It nearly killed Atton to say the next words but he did anyway. "Get back there and stay with her. Strap yourselves in and prepare for reentry. It's going to get a lot bumpier and for the love of , would someone turn that damn alarm off before I completely lose my mind?"

T3-M4 jabbed a probe into some panel and the alarm went dead. However, without the squealing alarm, the rattling, screaming and whirring sounds of the _Affliction_ speeding its deadly course toward Manaan was much more pronounced. Leigh's face paled as she sat next to Atton, her gaze flickering between him and the fast-approaching planet.

Atton gripped the controls of the monster ship, his right hand protesting that enough was enough. He ignored it as best he could and concentrated on keeping the ship as steady as possible. It was a heavy, lumbering ship—much more so that the smaller freighter he was used to flying. _If I can come close to landing this thing, it will be a major miracle,_ he thought but did not say aloud.

The viewports began to get cloudy with the red-white haze of reentry phenomenon. The systems that made reentry a smoother affair were knocked out and the entire barge began to rattle.

A thought occurred to Atton and he looked to Kellen quickly. "Who else is on this ship?" he shouted. "There must be slaves or servants or whatever unfortunate bastards O'Bannon caught, right?"

Kellen smiled a smug smile. "Of course, but they're all in lockdown. The _Affliction _does that in emergencies. The harem, the zoo, every slave working aboard is now trapped in their little rooms."

"There must be a comm channel for alerts and announcements," Atton muttered to Leigh. "Find it and tell everyone to take crash positions."

Leigh's eyes opened wider and Atton realized he had chosen his words poorly. "Just warn them!" he hissed. The controls were trying to jump around in his hands and he was nearly dizzy with pain.

"There is no P.A. system, you stupid bastard," Kellen said from his chair with a manic smile. "Your little rescue party just cost about seventy-five people their lives."

Atton pursed his lips. "HK, would you mind?"

"Statement: Not at all," he said. The droid rose from his chair, drove the butt of his carbine into Kellen's face, and then resumed his seat.

"Thank you," Atton muttered and was relieved when the ship finally past out of the outer atmosphere's and the rattling ceased. The relief was short-lived however, as the _Affliction_ was hastening toward Manaan at a rather violent speed. Leigh gasped beside him as the waters of Manaan drew closer and closer. Shortly, a settlement floating amidst all the blue appeared and Atton realized with a panic that the ship had been programmed to land on it. _It's going to wipe them out…_ he thought sickly and gripped the controls, trying with all his energy, to turn the ship away from the settlement.

Leigh's hand clutched his sleeve, and as the settlement seemed to race up towards them, they raced down to meet it. Sweat broke out over Atton's brow as he pushed, prayed and willed the ship to turn. With agonizing slowness, it did.

"You're doing it," Leigh whispered but Atton didn't hear her. He called upon the Force for more strength, more focus, more _anything_ and guided the _Affliction _away from the settlement, at the same time pulling up with all his might so that it didn't nosedive into that vast ocean.

A cry escaped him as fought the controls. _We're still too close! _he thought, which was quickly followed by, _We're coming in too fast…_and then the situation passed out of Atton's control. "Dane," he muttered as the water rushed up at him, and his last thought at the ship struck down was,_ I love you, babe, always…_

The _Affliction_ did not strike the settlement, though it came damn close. Atton had managed to pull up the ship's nose enough to keep it from smashing into the water and shattering it into a thousand pieces. Instead, it slammed its belly onto the water, breaking apart here and there, and then skipped like an overgrown rock three or four times before rolling on its side. And then it began to sink. Those watching from the settlement—those who had thought they were about to die and were spared by the brave and skillful maneuverings of the pilot inside that out-of-control ship—began to take action. Rescue skiffs were manned and sent out, hoping to save anyone who might have survived the crash, while another, smaller freighter screamed out of the sky from above…

**End of Part I**

* * *

_Notes to Reviewers:_

Whew! That was a long one, wasn't it?

Thank you all for your support and feedback. I really appreciate it and especially appreciate LONG reveiws that go with LONGchapters, winks.

To **Revan's Pet Duck:** When HK slammed his gun into that Kellen, kid? He was thinking of you the whole time. ;)

Special thanks to **Miss Becky **for her valuable input and feedback on the Dustil/Mission portion of this one and just for her support in general. (And for the drool-inducing pic of Atton she found for me) ;) Thank you, _you're_ the best.

OK, so I've decided to keep Part II on the same story so bear with me if there's something like 40 chapters on this thing. Up next...well, I haven't decided quite yet what's next but I'm sure it will come to me.:)


	22. Part II

**Disclaimer: Do I own this yet? No? Oh, all right. Sheesh. No suing please. **

* * *

**Part II, Chapter 22 Manaan…**

Dane watched as the last visible portion of the _Affliction_ slipped beneath the surface of the water and she sighed with relief. Many innocent people were still trapped inside and she hoped the Selkath could reach them, though with every passing moment, that possibility waned and dimmed. But a part of Dane was glad to see it sink. She couldn't help but feel that as the barge vanished out of sight that she was finally rid of Raff O'Bannon. Dane closed her eyes and heaved a sigh, her hand straying to the place on her neck where the implant had been. _Never again…I will let nothing and no one take the Force from me again…_

She shivered and clutched the blanket one of her Selkath rescuers had wrapped over her shoulders. Macen and Atton, similarly draped, stood behind her and three watched the rescue efforts with weary impotence from the swaying deck of a Selkath wave-skimmer a kilometer from the shore. Dane was in no position to help and Atton even less so. Macen had valiantly offered his services and had jumped into one of the faster-moving wave-skimmers of the Selkath rescue parties. He managed to haul Leigh out of the water, but the woman was already dead. Atton, Dane noticed, looked away as the woman's body was hauled aboard another boat.

The _Affliction _sank quickly for a vessel its size and the Selkath had quickly abandoned the repulsorlift-engine skiffs that hovered above the water and began to man submersibles to try to reach those trapped under it. Macen was not skilled to assist in the underwater efforts and so he rejoined Dane and Atton in their own rescue boat.

Two Selkath, one of some rank or authority and his translator, directed their wave-skimmer to pull along side Dane's. The one of apparent esteem gurgled a few words and his translator gurgled them back in standard, "_We have recovered your droids but another man from the bridge of the ship was already dead." _The Selkath pointed to a third wave skimmer heading towards them. As it neared, Dane saw HK-47 and T3-M4 lying helter-skelter on one end of the skiff and the body of an Inferno member on the other.

_"Apparently, he was not secured in his seat, nor was the young woman. I am sorry for your loss."_

"You should have left Kellen down there," Atton said in a hoarse voice from behind Dane. She spared a glance at him and was shocked at how ravaged he looked. His face was pale and drawn. A new gash to his forehead, sustained in the crash, left red streaks down one cheek. He was practically asleep on his feet with weariness and pain but had brushed off further attempts from Dane to heal him. She had thought to do it anyway without his permission, but knew it would only anger him and widen the gap that had emerged between them.

_"We will not have decaying flesh taint the kolto," _the Selkath replied, _"and blood may draw the firaxa towards our rescue workers."_

Atton shrugged and Dane knew he had stopped listening long before the Selkath had finished his sentence.

_"I wish I could comply with your wishes, sir, as we are all aware that it was you who diverted this vessel and kept it from crashing into Ahto City, but Selkath law forbids the contamination of that which we make our livelihood," _the Selkath continued apologetically to Atton. _"On behalf of all, I extend to you our thanks and welcome you to stay with us as our guest for as long as you need—provided of course, that all of our laws and regulations are strictly adhered to."_

When Atton didn't respond to this either, Dane made a few well-chosen remarks about Selkath hospitality. "If you would please see that the droids are salvaged, for they are very valuable to me, it would be much appreciated." she added.

The translator performed his task and the official Selkath nodded. _"We shall take them to Yortal Ixlis' shop. He shall make any repairs needed from water damage and will wipe their memories as well, free of cost."_

"No, no," Dane urged. "Do not wipe their memories. They are needed as is."

The Selkath was inclined to protest but he complied and then moved on to carry out her wishes. A few minutes later, after it was determined that the suction of the sinking barge would not endanger their journey, their own wave-skimmer made its way to the settlement of Ahto City.

Dane stepped onto the dock, Macen and Atton behind her. Another Selkath official was waiting to greet them and again Atton was thanked for his piloting. Again, Atton said nothing and Dane patched any offense he might have caused with a few pleasantries.

The Selkath eyed the ragged, dripping trio up and down and made a tactful comment that they should retire to the hotel in Ahto East Central where they might clean up and rest. The official turned to Atton and offered the pilot a long soak in a kolto tank for it was obvious to everyone that he was still standing only by sheer will. Atton muttered a response in the affirmative and Dane was relieved. _He won't let me heal him, and he won't heal himself—at least we landed on the right planet. _The three followed the official into Ahto City in morose, exhausted silence.

As they entered into the sanitized, immaculate corridors of the settlement, Atton stepped beside Dane. Her heart leapt with hope, but his words killed it in the same instant.

"Did you sleep with him?" he muttered under his breath with a nod toward Macen walking a few paces ahead.

Dane froze in shock and had to force herself to keep walking to avoid drawing attention. "What…?" she could hardly breathe let alone speak and then suddenly she was angry. _Gods, don't let Macen have heard that, _she thought and said aloud, "How dare you." It took all her will not to slap him, which was lucky for him—in his state he likely would have keeled over.

Atton barked a short, humorless laugh and then he looked to her, his eyes cold and dark. "Did you?" he asked again.

Dane walked faster, her eyes on the ground as she spoke. "Yes, Atton, that's right," she said with rare sarcasm. "In between getting kidnapped, tortured, the Force taken from me, murdering innocent men in duels and being threatened by O'Bannon with…"she swallowed hard, "with _indignities_…and finally, being told that you were dead, yes, after all that I slept with him."

Atton appeared to regret his words but only for a moment. His eyes remained dark and then he shrugged. "Thought I'd ask. Can't tell what may have happened these days."

"Is that a fact?" Dane whispered violently. "Just what do you take me for?"

Atton stopped and spun on her, his voice loud, as it was clear he did _not_ care if he drew attention to their argument. "I don't have the first clue, Dane. I thought I did. Hell, it was only six days ago we…" He broke off in frustration. "I'm no Jedi's toy," he seethed in a quieter tone. The devastated look on her face must have been vastly evident for Atton bowed his head in shame.

"You _are_ a Jedi," Dane whispered, still reeling from his words. _He is like a stranger to me…_

Atton sighed, his weariness dampening his anger. "Sorry…I…just forget it."

Atton's apathy was worse than his anger and Dane, her eyes shining with unshed tears, went to take his arm, to stop him, as he resumed walking. But she then saw that the Selkath official, his translator, and Macen had all paused and were waiting for them, and her cheeks burned with humiliation. She pressed her lips together and walked quickly to join them. She said nothing more to Atton, he said nothing more to her, and all the while they walked to the Ahto Hotel, Dane felt as though her heart was breaking.

* * *

**Somewhere on the Outer Rim….**

The count moved swiftly down the hall, his black cape snapping at his heels. A young dark Jedi, Lirik Thrakill, walked beside him, his quick, booted step sending echoes down the vast corridors and up amid the high, vaulted ceilings. They came to a door at the end of the dim hallway and here the count paused and turned to his companion.

"What do you need to make the communication?" the count asked tersely. Impatience and anger were rolling off him in waves—but Lirik was used to this. His smile was for he wasn't afraid of his master. Not truly. Lirik was young and he was powerful—the strength of the dark side was in him and he wielded the Force like the omnipotent weapon it was.

"Only a quiet place," Lirik replied. "Brother has much to say and I would that our communication was clear…for your benefit, lord," he added, his arrogant smile hidden by a low, humble bow.

"Then come," the count said, and activated the door before them. "I believe Darth Tertius' chambers should do more than suit," he said and stepped inside the darkened room with a swish of his black robes.

Lirik stopped, the smile slipping from his face and he swallowed hard. Darth Tertius—his lord's creation. The name he had heard whispered along the halls of the fortress on more than one occasion. Even among other dark Jedi and Sith, the name was something said in hushed tones, as though saying it aloud would call him forth. _Call _them_ forth,_ Lirik amended to himself. He and his twin brother had risen quickly in the ranks of the Sith and their unique Force bond had been of great use to the count. Lirik, and his brother Lanik, were chief among the count's apprentices. Even so, Lirik knew very little about the count's creation—his lord had kept his work secret even from his closest servants. But Lirik had been around the count long enough to know that Darth Tertius was not one man, but three and that the fearful whispers he had heard were well founded.

Lirik had never seen Darth Tertius face to face and wasn't terribly sure he wanted to. _Face to faces,_ he amended dryly, and slowly stepped inside, his assuredness falling away with each step.

The chamber was empty but for three tall chairs that resembled thrones more than anything else. They lined the back wall of the small room and sitting in each—motionless to the point of appearing as statues only— was a robed and hooded figure. Lirik paused not three steps into the room and then jumped when the count activated the door to slide it shut. The Force surrounded the three men in the chairs and the young dark Jedi was awed by the power he felt within their slender bodies. Dark energies swirled and crackled with green lightening around them, making their stillness more acute.

"Ah, yes," the count sneered, stepping beside Lirik to admire his creation. "I believe you have never met Darth Tertius. I thought," he added in a tone the younger man didn't like at all, "that it was time you did."

"Y-Yes, lord," Lirik said with a tremor in his voice that was unusual for him. "Thank you for the honor, lord."

The count regarded the young man with glittering eyes and smiled in a way that made Lirik's skin crawl. "He is not…_awake_…at the moment," the count said, "so please excuse his silence."

_He is not turned on, you mean, _Lirik thought with a shiver. He wondered briefly why the count considered Darth Tertius as one man, why he gave them only one name, but the thought was quickly replaced by the suspicion that the count was being overly friendly to him. The older man's tone was as a warm blanket wrapped around a knife of ice.

"Not at all, lord," Lirik said, trying to maintain his casual, flippant demeanor. Instinctively, he knew what was expected and so he bowed low to Darth Tertius, but only to avoid the anger of the count. He scolded himself for weakness—only moments before he had scoffed at the notion of fearing the older man, but now, in the presence of the count's creation, Lirik wasn't so sure.

As he bowed, he tried to peer surreptitiously under the cowls of the three men sitting before him. He saw little but the thin lines of their mouths set into pallid white skin, for the cowls were pulled low over their eyes. That skin was unlined and smooth—whoever the three were, they were young yet. And identical. What little Lirik could see of one robed figure was mirrored in the other two. Lirik's heart skipped a beat and he thought of his brother. Lanik was his identical twin and Lirik had the sickening notion that had he and Lanik come to the count a few years earlier, it would be the two of them sitting in those chairs right now. The dark Jedi's thoughts were confirmed when the count spoke again.

"Darth Tertius has much in common with you and your brother," he said, still in that same, too-friendly manner. "But his power is infinitely stronger than yours, his Force bond makes the little chats you and Lanik are capable of seem a parlor trick." The count smiled thinly. "I will admit, however, I learned much of what Darth Tertius has now become by studying you and Lanik."

"What do you mean, lord?" Lirik asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

"You may wonder why I call my creation by one name; speak of it as though they are not three men, but one, yes?"

Lirik nodded, wondering if the count would think it rude to approach the three in order to inspect them more closely. He wondered too if that was such a good idea—he could see now each one had a lightsaber resting under a pale hand on the armrests of the chairs. But while the green crackles of energy around them hissed like snakes ready to strike, the three were ever motionless.

"Darth Tertius is not three men," the count continued, stepping beside his creation, "not anymore. Once, he was three powerful young Sith, full of anger and hate and so very powerful in the dark side of the Force. But no more. Now, because of my work, they are one man, one Sith Lord in the body of three."

"Hive mind," Lirik muttered as he inspected the Dark Sith Lords. He had heard whispers of that too but hadn't thought it possible to create one out of living flesh and brain. He glanced quickly at the count, wondering again how much of he and Lanik the count had used to create Darth Tertius.

"Yes, a hive mind," the count replied. He laid a hand on the robed figure to the right. The man did not move or acknowledge the touch in anyway. _That is not life, not really, _Lirik thought._ How can they wield so much of the Force and yet be so…empty? _Lirik forced himself to focus on his master's words.

"Darth Tertius' Force bond is an unbreakable chain that links the three together. They see, hear, feel and think as one man does. What one sees, the others see. What one knows, the others know…and because they are completely and utterly mine, what they see and hear and know… I know too."

Lirik couldn't help but feel impressed, even as he felt he would be much happier sitting in some cantina far away from Darth Tertius. _The dark power is enviable, _he thought, _but I wouldn't want it like that. Like some dead thing…_

"Why have you brought me here now, lord?" Lirik asked. The count was still smiling that sickly smile at him and the young man wanted whatever unpleasantness that might be headed his way to be over and done with.

"I have brought you here because when you speak to that lazy, incompetent brother of yours, Darth Tertius would like you to pass on a message. Please," the count said, indicating Lirik should sit on the floor and begin his transmission.

Lirik didn't like that one bit—not the count's words and certainly not the idea of sitting at the feet of Darth Tertius. It was a vulnerable position which would only become more so when Lirik would have to concentrate in order to contact Lanik. But there was no disobeying the count and so, giving Darth Tertius a furtive glance, Lirik sat cross-legged on the floor of the chamber and smoothed his black robes around him. _What message could that three-headed machine have for Lanik? _he thought. But he forced his mind to empty and concentrated, calling on the Force bond between himself and his brother.

The count had called the brothers' ability a parlor trick, but Lirik knew there was no other pair of Jedi in the galaxy that had a bond as powerful as theirs—not naturally, anyway. From the next room or across light-years—as Lanik was now—the brothers could speak and feel the thoughts and emotions of the other. The count had found this ability incredibly useful as he could plant the brothers in far-apart locations, deep in the heart of enemy territory, and relay his orders and receive news without need of comlinks. Comlinks were weak over distance and data recorders could be sliced, transmissions intercepted. Not so with Lirik and Lanik Thrakill.

Lirik closed his eyes, grateful to shut out the sight of Darth Tertius' pale, unmoving visages looming over him. He called upon the Force, using it as a conduit that would take his thoughts across the galaxy. _Brother…_he called and Lanik answered. Lirik opened his eyes and looked up at the count. "He is here."

The count nodded. "Make your report," he ordered.

"_My lord, the Jedi Council will convene as soon as the Exile is located," _Lanik spoke and Lirik passed his words on to their lord.

The count shot a dark look at Lirik still sitting on the floor. "Don't tell me what I already know," he hissed. "The question is, where will it be convened?"

"_Unknown at this time, master_," Lanik returned. "_Initial data would indicate Dantooine, though I am no longer certain that that planet will be chosen. I suspect Master Shan, believing the Sith to be weakened and no longer posing any serious threat, will be bold enough to choose Coruscant itself…at the Jedi Temple, no less."_

The count sneered in a close approximation of a smile. "I don't doubt some finely chosen words on your part had a hand in how the Jedi wench came to such a conclusion."

"_Of course, master_," Lanik replied through his brother, "_as per your instructions."_

The count's smile slid off his face like a poorly affixed mask. "That minor success does not absolve you from your failure in determining the whereabouts of the Exile. You have been given more than enough time and I have been more than patient. Your brother, as I am certain you are aware, is eager to commence his own task. You waste his time, and, more importantly, you waste mine. Find the Exile. Name the planet. I will tolerate no further delay."

"_My apologies, master_," Lanik replied. "_But please know that none here are aware of the Exile's location. She is as lost to them as she is to us. However, I am certain that once she is found, I will be given a full report from my…source. She is becoming more and more forthcoming with me by the hour. She has even conferred on me the title of Jedi Master,_" Lanik said and Lirik imitated the derisive tone in which his brother had spoken.

The count pursed his lips and paced for a moment in silence. He regarded Lirik with that overly friendly smile and continued to pace, as though thinking.

_What is he doing? _Lanik asked from Coruscant after a pause.

_I don't know, but I've got a bad feeling about this. I have met Darth Tertius…_

_Is that so? _Lanik pondered. _How fascinating. I am envious that you are there to witness such a marvel of our lord's creation. _Lirik suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Lanik, far from the incompetent, lazy man the count had said accused him of being, was studious and collected. It was like him to consider meeting Darth Tertius, not as something fearful, but as something that warranted inspection and study.

_Return here, if you are so eager, _Lirik replied dryly, _and I'll journey to Coruscant. We can trade places…the count will never know—_

"Lirik," said the count, jarring the younger man from his communications. "It is time for you to pass on Darth Tertius' message to your brother."

Lirik's eyes flew open and he saw that while he had been chatting with Lanik, the count had _activated_ Darth Tertius. There was no other way to describe it—one minute the three were motionless statues, and now…Lirik drew back in fear, doubly regretting his prone position on the floor. Now Darth Tertius—all three of them—had risen to their feet. The dark Jedi watched as, in perfect, absolute unison, they turned to face him and each raised one pale, slender hand.

The count smiled. "Tell your brother that his failure to secure the location of the Exile has displeased Darth Tertius. No, on second thought, say nothing. I find words are so very weak and convey so little compared to the power of the Force, don't you?" he said and that sickly, overly friendly smile died a swift death to be replaced by a cold mask of wrath. "You think I can't feel your arrogance, Lirik?" he seethed. "Do you think I don't know you take me for an old fool?"

Lirik blanched. "No, lord, never. I—"

_What's happening? _Lanik asked but Lirik's fear had seized his mind and he had no response.

"Yes, I've learned much from watching you and your brother," the count continued. "Darth Tertius' power is a gale storm compared to the pitiful drizzle you and Lanik share, but…your abilities do come in handy every now and then."

Lirik didn't see the motion or signal the count gave to Darth Tertius—in the next instant all he knew was pain as the Dark Sith Lords channeled a Force shock into him. Blue lightening crackled over his skin and sliced its way into him so deeply, he felt his bones ache and his organs shudder and clench at the blast. He screamed until the shock stole the breath from him and then he could only convulse helplessly at the feet of Darth Tertius. From the other side of the galaxy, Lanik screamed with his brother…

After a moment that seemed like eternity, the Dark Sith Lord relented and Lirik curled into a ball on the floor, his arms wrapped protectively around him. He tried very hard not to cry.

The count knelt beside him and stroked his brown hair gently for a moment before suddenly yanking it so that Lirik's head twisted and his eyes met those of his lord. "Did Lanik receive Darth Tertius' message?"

Lirik nodded wordlessly. He could feel his brother's pain—a softer, much less powerful echo of his own. Words were not the only thing passed between them.

"Excellent," the count said, releasing Lirik and rising to his feet. "Tell Lanik there is worse to come if he fails me again."

Lirik slowly sat up and blinked—the shock had blurred his vision. He watched as Darth Tertius resumed its seat, every movement of one mirrored exactly in the other two. The effect was uncanny. The count smiled at his creation and then stepped towards the door of the small chamber.  
"Come, then, Lirik," he beckoned. "We must prepare you for your journey for I have a feeling Lanik is going to report to us again very soon."

Lirik got to his feet slowly, shakily. Every part of him ached and his bones felt leaden, but he forced himself to move quickly out of the chamber.

_Brother…_

_Hurry, Lanik, _Lirik thought, anger burning away some of the pain. _Hurry…_

* * *

**Coruscant…**

"Are you there?" The soft, hesitant query was followed by a knock of a similar quality on Lanik Thrakill's door.

The young man snapped to attention and shook his head to clear it. "A moment, please," he called and rubbed his hands over his face to bring some color to them. He was aware that he inevitably looked pale and glassy after speaking through his brother. The Force shock Darth Tertius had lashed Lirik with hadn't helped.

Lanik checked his visage in the mirror. Reflected back was a slender, handsome man in his late twenties with brown hair, luminous blue eyes, and a broad, full mouth. His eyes were shadowed and his skin pale from the 'message' the count had passed on, but he thought he looked presentable. He was not vain, not like Lirik, but he wanted to be certain the amulet hanging from his neck was tucked out of sight beneath his Jedi robes. The amulet looked like nothing more than a slender silver chain upon which a garnet the size of a large teardrop hung, but it was only the amulet that protected him from detection. It was an aid to shield his true intentions and feelings from those around him. Without it, his position could be forfeit, for Bastila Shan was an observant woman.

He turned on a gentle, welcoming smile and moved to activate the door. It slid open and Master Shan, small and pretty and emanating the Force like a vapor, stood up straight and nervously smoothed her brown hair.

"I apologize, I did not mean to interrupt," she said, looking about nervously. It was unusual for her to appear so uncollected and Lanik had discovered that it was only in his presence that her cool, controlled demeanor fell away. It was a point he—and his lord—had quickly taken advantage of. "Are you ill?" she asked, looking at him more closely. There was more than a touch of concern replacing the shy tone of her voice. "You look pale. Shall I help…?"

"You are too kind, Master Shan," Lanik said quietly, "but I am fine. I was…" he chuckled sheepishly, "taking a nap. I know there is much work to be done in preparation for the Council meeting, but I could not resist a few minutes rest. Please, do come in."

"Not at all, Lanik," Bastila returned, stepping into his cell. He knew she liked saying his name and he resisted a smile when she said it again. "You have been working terribly hard, Lanik, and have been a great help to us. You have been a great help to me," she added softly, the shyness returning.

"I live only to serve you and the Order," Lanik replied with a low bow.

"The Order is honored to have a Jedi of your caliber among its ranks," Bastila returned solemnly and then brightened as though remembering why she had come. "I have good news," she said. "The Exile has been found…on Manaan of all places." Bastila shook her head and so missed the momentary flicker of triumph on Lanik's face. "The Force is strong with Dustil. Juhani sent him out into this immense galaxy and he finds her within three days. Impressive."

"Quite," Lanik replied, thinking quickly. "That is good news for now we may convene the Jedi Council with no further delay."

Bastila sighed and nodded. "Yes, though I am still uncertain if I should convene it here. We are still slowly recovering from the war and it was only weeks ago that the Exile killed the last three powerful Sith lords left—precious little time has passed since their deaths that I should dare hold the meeting here on Coruscant. I fear that within their shattered ranks, the remaining Sith will seek revenge and what better place than the Jedi Temple?"

Lanik, a dark Jedi and a Sith, took offense to the "shattered ranks" comment, but he kept his face placid. "Unlikely such an attack would occur. Whatever Sith are left, they are far, far away and much too weak as of yet to pose any kind of a threat. More and more Jedi are reemerging from their own exiles—as my brother and I did. Our power grows. No Sith would dare attack the Council, and certainly not at the Temple—the very heart of Jedi power and strength." Lanik was proud that not a trace of the contempt and irony he felt had bled into his words.

Bastila nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose you are right. I will think on it further and perhaps discuss with Carth some matters of security that I would see handled." She looked up at him and smiled. "Wherever it is to be held, your brother should come, yes? He is Jedi after all."

Lanik laughed ruefully. "Lirik is a poor example of a Jedi, but yes, he is one of us. He will come, though it may take effort and will on my part to pull him from his whiskey and gambling long enough to attend."

"I should like to meet him," Bastila said, still smiling.

"Oh, you shall, that is certain. On that note, might I suggest," Lanik added, "that it be my brother who accompanies the Exile to Coruscant? Master Koren has achieved much these last months and undoubtedly there are Sith who wish to see her dead. While I continue to feel they pose no threat to us here, I also feel that out in open space the Exile would be more vulnerable. Lirik, as roguish in his ways as he is, could escort the Exile here, as added protection." He affected a sheepish smile. "And for my own reasons, I feel it would be good for my wayward brother to be given some responsibility regarding this whole affair…and, of course, I would like to see him again. "

Bastila smiled. "You are close with him?" she asked.

"In more ways than you could guess."

Lanik felt the woman's pleasure at his apparent declaration of brotherly love. "Have you a means of contacting him?" she asked.

"Oh yes, I do."

"Then ask him if he would be so kind as to go to Manaan as a representative of the Jedi Council and escort the Exile," Bastila said. "Yes, I think that suits just fine." There was a moment of silence and it was clear that the Jedi Master, having concluded her business, was reluctant to leave. Lanik saw the woman looked troubled as well, and he wondered if she had finally begun to suspect him.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked gently.

Bastila shook her head, as though to clear it, and smiled at him. "No, I'm sorry…I was just...thinking."

Lanik nodded. Bastila was worried about something, and did not wish to share it. A closer inspection of her feelings left him feeling relatively certain it didn't concern him. Nonetheless, he _wanted_ her to want to share it with him. The less mystery between them, the more ammunition he and the Sith had. _She has not taken me into her confidences as she has that imbecile of an admiral. Perhaps it is time to take our relationship a step further, _he thought snidely. "Have dinner with me," he offered in a gentle, almost shy tone. "We have much to celebrate and you deserve some leisure time as well—I would be honored if you would care to spend it with me, Bastila."

The woman blushed; as much as she liked saying his name, she liked it more when he said hers.

"That would be lovely, thank you," she replied. "Perhaps we can meet in one hour?"

Lanik smiled. "One hour. I shall meet you in the Arboretum." He took her hand in his and pressed it to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. "Until then, Bastila."

"Until then, Lanik," she murmured and left his cell.

As soon as the door slid shut, the dark Jedi closed his eyes and became perfectly still. _Brother, _he thought with a cold smile on his lips, _I have news…_

* * *

Bastila Shan decided she had time enough before her dinner with Lanik to meet with Carth Onasi. Her spirits were high after speaking with the young Jedi Master, but even the prospect of dining out with Lanik—which was not a date, she told herself, but dinner only—did not quell the nagging, unsettling feeling that had sprung up in her mind that morning. Carth was her dearest friend and the only person with whom she wished to share her worry. She felt a disturbance in the Force. It was not yet strong enough to cause alarm—a mere spark not yet aflame, but it had served Bastila well to share her concerns with Carth in the past. The Admiral seemed to always have a practical, clever solution to any problem and his friendly advice always did her good. _But what if it is Revan? _she thought with a chill. 

Her Force bond with Revan had weakened almost to nothing over time and Bastila suspected Revan—wherever she was—was very far away. But the bond, however faint, was still there and Bastila brought up the woman's name to Carth as little as she could—the pain of her leaving was still with him, even after two years. _And I suspect that name is going to be coming up again and again in the not too distant future. _She searched her feelings, trying to decipher if the foreboding she felt was connected to Revan, but then gave up. _Everything is connected to Revan, somehow, _she thought bitterly and stepped out into the street.

Any other day and Bastila would have walked from the Temple to the Republic offices, but she had little time before she was to meet Lanik in the Arboretum, and so she hailed an airspeeder taxi. On the short ride to Carth's offices, she found herself wearing a small, contented smile and the dark thoughts of Revan were replaced with warm thoughts of Lanik Thrakill.

Bastila arrived at the tall, gleaming towers of the Republic offices where the fleets commanders, when they weren't actively engaged on mission, handled the day-to-day tedium of their posts. She stepped into the pristine, durasteel turbolift and pressed the button for the eighty-fifth floor of the two hundred-and-some-odd-floor tower. Carth's office was as large as the fleet's highest commanders could persuade him to take and on a corner with a magnificent view of the city. Bastila walked the clean, well-lit hallways, nodding greetings at officers who recognized her. As often as she visited Carth, there were many faces she recognized, but none more so than Deke Targan. She had met the man at one of the endless dinners and awards banquets that had been held to honor the first crew of the _Ebon Hawk._ Deke had taken an instant liking to Carth and, over time, had developed a deep, unwavering loyalty and admiration for him. He had taken it upon himself to act as the Admiral's personal assistant and Carth, finding the man's help and friendship to be invaluable, let him. As Bastila approached Carth's office, she noticed Deke's normally jovial face was drawn with concern and he rushed at Bastila as the Jedi Master drew closer.

"I'm glad you're here, Master Shan," Deke said, bowing respectfully but quickly. "The Admiral said you would come."

"What is it?" Bastila asked, the nagging worry in her heart blooming into something close to fear. She saw that the door to Carth's offices was closed—unusual for the friendly man to whom typical politics and protocol meant very little. Carth, no matter how high his station, always left the door open for those who wanted to see him.

"He will admit no one but you," Deke replied, following her gaze. "I wish I had more to report, Master Shan…"

"It's all right, thank you, Deke," Bastila said.

The young man bowed again and spoke into the little comlink on the door. "Master Shan, sir," he said. The door opened instantly. Deke moved aside to let Bastila pass through. The door slid shut behind her and he took up his position at the door. His rank precluded him from guard duty, but Deke wasn't going anywhere…Admiral Onasi might need him.

Bastila entered Carth's sparse, but neatly appointed offices, hurrying through the outer room and into the inner one in which resided the Admiral's immense desk. Carth was seated behind it, a datapad in his hand. Bastila saw that his face, still handsome and youthful after forty-one years, was pale and his brown eyes were shadowed. He met her gaze as she entered and then Bastila knew. Her instincts had been correct and a pang of dread replaced the worry. _The datapad…_she thought and then Carth spoke.

"It came this morning," he said in a tight voice. "It's from Revan."

* * *

**Notes to Reviewers…**

Thanks to all who have been following along with this behemoth of mine. Your kind words and criticisms are very much appreciated and valued. (And since I can't thank you anywhere else, thanks to those who read and reviewed The Confession, too)

Sorry it took so long to update Res, but I needed to take a little break and figure out where to go next. I hope you enjoy the second part and thanks again for sticking with me. I just hope I can keep earning your attention.

For those who want to see the Atton pic I mentioned…**Miss Becky** provided it to me (as she has provided much in the way of friendship and writerly commiseration,) so I'll see if one or the other of us can put in on our homepage.

Aside to **demonessjo**: You can gush any time you want. Your reviews make my day. Please feel free to tell me if I screw up, though, too. J

Aside to **Silvershadow**: I'm glad you liked The Confession. You've been writing Atton so long and so well, it was a real thrill to me to see that you liked my take on him.

Thanks again to everyone! Up next, another blast from the past makes an appearance. First to guess who it is, wins a prize. (See, now it's interactive.) :)


	23. Checking in to the Ahto Hotel

**Chapter 23**

**Checking in to the Ahto Hotel…**

Manaan was a subdued planet. After the Sith were finally run off four years ago and the Republic presence dwindled, there was not much in the way of excitement occurring on the watery orb. The Selkath were a stern, temperate people who tolerated little that was not decorous and orderly. The cantina was known to serve more than one Exchange thug or out-of-work mercenary in a day, and the swoop track drew some colorful characters but the Selkath kept all of their eyes on both. Their rules were strict, as were the authorities that enforced them. It was, therefore, an unusual scene at the Ahto Hotel—not one the Selkath, in their daily and all-consuming kolto harvesting lives, saw often.

Ignus, the manager, looked up from his administrative duties to see three soaking wet humans—one appearing dead on his feet, one a Jedi Knight and all three bearing grim countenances—being led to his front desk by a Selkath from the docking sector. Before the three humans arrived, however, they were beset upon by two more people—yet another Jedi and a vibrant blue Twi'lek who squealed in a very unSelkath-like manner when she saw the three. Ignus, not a Selkath himself, but having lived among them long enough to admire and adapt to their quiet ways, watched with curiosity as the squealing Twi'lek then flung herself at the Jedi woman, hugging her exuberantly, before turning and doing the same to the bedraggled man.

_Two more Jedis, _Ignus thought, his gaze going to the lone figure, also a Jedi, sitting in the lobby, watching the scene intently. _That makes three to come here in the space of one standard month. _Ignus narrowed his eyes and vowed he would not have any more trouble at his hotel. One murder in four years was enough excitement to last a lifetime. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited impatiently for the three to hurry up with their jabbering and get down to business, all the while secretly wishing he didn't have any vacancy.

"I'm so glad you're all right!" Mission exclaimed, throwing her arms around Dane for the second time. "Ew, you're all wet. What happened? We saw the crash! Oh my gosh, it's a miracle you're all alive."

Dane, although happy to see the Twi'lek—and curious about the young Jedi standing beside her—wished she had had another hour or two before she had to contend with Mission's exuberance. "Yes, it is a miracle," she muttered for lack of something better to say. She turned her eyes to the Jedi. "You must be…?" She tried to recall the name Atton had called on his comlink on the _Affliction_ but her tired mind wouldn't retrieve it.

"I'm Dustil Onasi," the young man said, bowing low. "At your service, Master Koren."

Dane raised an eyebrow. "Onasi? As in, Admiral Onasi?"

"Yes, he's Carth's son," Mission piped up and Dane did not miss the sparkle in the Twi'lek's eyes when she looked at the handsome young man. "He flew the _Hawk _here once we heard O'Bannon's barge was coming to Manaan."

Dane was impressed. She instantly liked the resourceful young man and was more than a little relieved the _Ebon Hawk _was at her disposal. She had not fully recovered yet from the turbulent events of the last few days to think ahead to her next step, but she was glad finding a way off Manaan was not going to be an issue.

"My apologies, Master Koren…and to you Atton," Dustil said, "for not getting to you sooner. We had a few Inferno stowaways to deal with before we could follow after."

"Where is Zaalbar?" Dane asked, suddenly worried.

"He's with the _Hawk._ He really hates water, and I mean, _really_," Mission said with a giggle.

Dustil nodded and laughed. "Poor fellow, he was not at all pleased to see us landing here, I can tell you." He looked to Macen. "I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met." He extended his hand and Macen shook it.

"Macen Vorn," the man said in his low voice. "Formerly of the _Affliction._"

"Crew…?" Dustil replied, eyeing Macen up and down.

"Entertainment," Macen said with a wry smile.

"Macen was a prisoner with me on the barge," Dane explained. She looked up at him and smiled gently. "If it wasn't for him, I don't know what I would have done."

Dustil's newer, much friendlier greeting to Macen almost drowned out Atton's very loud, very conspicuous snort. Almost. Dustil looked between Dane and the pilot while Mission bit her lip.

"Well, I have much to share with you, Master Koren," Dustil said, steering the conversation adroitly into calmer waters. "Master Juhani sent me to find you and Master Shan—"

"Please," Dane said, holding up a hand and smiling tiredly to soften the interruption. "I'm sure you have much to tell me, Dustil, but I must rest. We all do. Unless your news is terribly urgent, I would that it could wait until I've had some sleep—at least two days' worth," she added with a short laugh. "I also ask that you speak to me in private, when I am ready, as I suspect your news is not meant for…everyone." By 'everyone', Dane meant non-Jedi's and Dustil—ever observant—understood.

The young Jedi bowed again. "Of course, Master Koren. Perhaps in three days' time we will speak again. I know you have been through much. But I should like to alert Master Juhani that I have found you, if I may, as it was my mission to seek you out."

"Of course," Dane said, without the first clue as to who Master Juhani was. And her weariness was making her dull—when Dustil said "my mission" and the Twi'lek had blushed to the roots of her _lekku, _Dane had nearly laughed aloud.

The Selkath official, who had been waiting patiently for the newcomers to finish their conversation, made a subtle but polite noise and Dane moved the group to the hotel front desk where a very dry looking human—no doubt the manager—was eyeing them coolly. But they hadn't taken three steps into the lobby when Dane felt another Force-sensitive in the room.

She looked to Dustil but the Jedi was talking with Mission and didn't seem to notice. Dane glanced quickly around and saw an older, dark-skinned man, with tufts of white hair ringed around his otherwise balding head and a sour expression on his wizened features, watching her. He was clearly a Jedi by his aura, if not for the robes that marked him as such. She caught his eye and he made a quick, negating gesture before silently gliding out of the lobby and into the hotel. He was gone almost before she could convince herself he was there. _He wishes for me to keep silent about his presence but that I should speak to him,_ she thought, wondering how it was she knew both. _The Force is strong with him,_ was the answer and Dane was suddenly more curious to know what the old Jedi had to tell her than she was to hear whatever it was Dustil had for her.

Dane pulled her thoughts from the old man and turned to begin the process of checking in.

"We will need at least three rooms," she began and the manager cut her off.

"Three is all I got. Who's going where?" His name card said he was called Ignus and he did not appear terribly happy to have the three of them dripping water all over his lobby floor. But a warm, clean bed was only moments away so Dane did not give much attention to the manager's abruptness.

"All right, then, myself and Mission in one—"

"No," Atton cut in harshly. He had been so quiet—besides the occasional derisive snort—that his sudden outburst startled nearly everyone as he pushed his way through the group to the desk. "Me and her in one room," he said, jerking a thumb at Dane. "Write that down," he ordered, tapping Ignus's registration console for emphasis. "Me and her."

The manager raised an eyebrow out Dane. The Jedi felt the rest of the group's eyes on her as well and her cheeks burned. She looked to Atton. He was staring back at her defiantly, willing her to contradict him. She sighed and nodded. "Very well, though I don't know what everyone else is going to do."

"I'll stay with the _Ebon Hawk_," Dustil offered quietly. "I would feel more comfortable there, keeping an eye on it with Zaalbar."

Dane smiled with gratitude at the young man. _He is very well mannered and has a good heart. I hope his father shares the same traits. _

Mission was biting her lip again and Dane could sense the Twi'lek was angling to stay as close to Dustil as possible. "Maybe I should stay with the _Hawk_ too," she said. "Big Z doesn't like it when I'm out of his sight, you know?"

Dane studied Dustil, wondering if the young man needed saving but he grinned broadly at Mission's suggestion. _I'm not going to get involved in that one,_ Dane said to herself. _I've made enough of a mess of one relationship already. _"Fine, then we require only two rooms," she told the manager.

"Thanks," Macen said. "I won't need it long. I plan to get off-planet as soon as I can." He took the keycard to his room the manager handed him with gratitude.

"You'll see me before you go, won't you?" Dane asked, trying her best to ignore Atton's stare.

"You can count on it," Macen said, with a small smile. He spared Atton a glance and took a step closer to Dane. "I can see you've got a lot going on," he said in his low voice, "and I don't want to be in the way."

"You're not, I promise you," Dane said fiercely.

Macen's smile broadened. "I'll see you soon, Dane," he said and bent to kiss her on the cheek. He took his time about it and Dane sighed inwardly. _I'm going to hear about that one later,_ she thought as Macen straightened and turned to Atton.

"That was some good flying," Macen said, and thumped the pilot on the back. "Some of the best I've ever seen."

"Happy to be of service," Atton muttered in a tone that set Dane's teeth on edge.

But Macen ignored him. He seemed to be in too high of spirits to let Atton's sarcasm get to him. "Good to meet you," he said, shaking Dustil's hand one last time. He winked at Mission and then caught and held Dane's gaze. "I'll see you soon," he said again before retreating to his room. _He's so happy now that he is free, _she thought, _and so should I be, but…_ Dane steadfastly refused to meet Atton's eyes but she could feel his ire like a hot wind on her back.

"Might I suggest that the young man visit one of Manaan's many fine kolto tanks prior to his checking in?" Ignus offered dryly and with a nod at Atton.

Dane said nothing. She wasn't sure she could take any more of the pilot's biting comments if she ordered him to take the manager's advice. Fortunately, Atton, seeing the room situation settled, nodded.

"Yeah, sure," he said. He gave Dane one more pointed, yet bleary, look, and allowed himself to be led away to the med clinic by the Selkath official from the docking bay. Dane watched him go with a heavy heart.

"Don't mind him, Dane," Mission said quietly. "He's been through a lot. He'll come around once he's been healed."

Dane nodded. She took her own room key from the manager after a curt, "Enjoy your stay," and headed toward the turbolift to her room. _Mine and Atton's room, _she amended silently.

"Was it bad?" she asked Mission as they walked, Dustil hanging back to allow them privacy.

Mission nodded. "Yeah, I guess. Got his hand smashed up pretty bad. I don't know what happened after he sneaked onto O'Bannon's barge, but he was in a pretty bad way after you were taken—and I don't mean physically, you know?"

Dane felt hot tears spring to her eyes. _We were so happy for so precious little time and I treated him so poorly. _The thought was followed by a reminder that he hadn't exactly been a gentleman to her recently either. _He was cruel but then, wasn't I? _Thinking about the whole situation was getting her nowhere and inevitably reduced down to one refrain: _I don't know what to do. _

"Thank you both for coming after me," Dane said to Mission and Dustil as she reached the turbolift. "I am in your debt."

"I only did my duty," Dustil said, bowing again and flashing her a charming smile.

"Anytime," Mission replied and she impulsively hugged Dane again. "Ew, you're clothes are still wet. I'll bring you your stuff from the _Hawk._"

Dane thanked her and bid the pair goodbye, telling Dustil she would meet with him after she had properly rested. The turbolift took her to her room on the second floor of the hotel, and as she keyed the card in the door, she imagined how soft the bed would be and how wonderful the sleep without the maddening itch of the implant.

But when Dane was finally alone in her small, but neat little room, she found herself very much awake. _That Jedi… I must speak with the old Jedi. _So instead of passing into oblivion as she thought she would have, she lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for Mission to return with her belongings.

The Twi'lek was quick, bringing not only Dane's things, but Atton's as well. Dane smiled as Mission dumped his ribbed jacket Dane loved, and the black, fingerless gloves she thought he looked so sexy in, in a heap on the floor. After a second farewell and another hug, Dane changed from her soaking robes into plain, dun-colored tunic and leggings. She waited until she was certain Mission was long gone and then she stepped out into the hall.

The old Jedi was waiting for her.

* * *

Without a word, he led her to his room, which was larger than her own and had a small table and chairs in a sitting area. It also looked more lived in—as though he had been there for some time. They sat across from one another and the old man introduced himself as Jolee Bindo, Jedi and former crewmember of the _Ebon Hawk_. Dane was not surprised at that revelation; it only confirmed that her path was clear and her steps would take her to Revan, as she planned. 

"Why did you not step forward in the lobby?" Dane asked. "Surely you remember Mission?"

Jolee snorted and waved a hand as though swatting away a fly that wouldn't stop pestering him. "Of course I do! I may be old, missy, but I've still got most of my faculties. Sure, I remember her but—the Force help me—you've been around the girl a while, haven't you? Sweet little thing—just won't shut up. My old nerves can only take so much of her at one time."

"I imagine you haven't seen her in four years," Dane reminded him gently, resisting a smile.

"See? Not nearly enough time."

Dane _did _smile then. She liked the old man immensely, even for having known him only a short time. _And his being here is important,_ she thought. _There is much to learn from him, if I only listen. _Aloud she said, "What brings you here?"

"The kolto," he replied. "Aye, I can see by your face you didn't expect that, eh?" He chuckled and then his demeanor grew serious again. "I came here two years ago because I wanted to learn about healing. I've seen a lot of death in my day—lots of pain—and I can't stand for it much anymore. A strong Jedi can do a lot with the Force in the way of healing, but some wounds..." He sighed. "Some wounds are beyond even the Force. I thought maybe there is a way to do more, to save those that seem beyond saving."

Dane nodded, her heart heavy as she thought of Bao-Dur. "If I wasn't on this present course, I know I would choose a similar path. I had a friend…" her throat tightened and she shook her head.

"Yes, I have met too many who have 'had a friend', as you did. As I did. That's why I came here. I thought if I studied kolto, its properties and mechanisms, I could find something, some kind of connection to the Force. Kolto is a living thing. The Force is with it…in small portions, of course, but it's there."

"Have your studies yielded anything?" Dane asked hopefully.

"Oh yes," Jolee said. "Yes, they have." He was silent for a moment, studying her, and then he said. "Later. We'll talk about all that later."

"All right," Dane said, smiling. She liked the idea that there would be further conversations with Jolee and so, despite her curiosity, she let the matter drop. "What shall we talk about—is it _Master_ Bindo?"

The old Jedi snorted. "I suppose so. Bastila got the fool notion in her head that I should be called 'Master'. Guess if you manage to get on long enough as a Jedi without getting yourself killed, you don't have a say in it. Consolation prize, I reckon."

"Bastila is conferring titles?" Dane asked. "Is there a Council somewhere that has been forged these last seven months?"

"Not yet, but there will be. There aren't but a handful of Masters—mostly those of us who went around with Revan and some other hotshot named Lubbok, or Lavik, or some such name, who I heard showed up on Coruscant one day. And you. I reckon Bastila's real eager to get a hold of you. She followed your progress while you fought all those Sith, and when you destroyed Malachor V, she decided it was time for us Jedi to start over again. I think she's been waiting for you. Probably wants to convene a new Council now that the others are...no longer with us."

Dane nodded, remembering that horrible day when Kreia murdered the Jedi Masters on Dantooine. But her grief for them was burned away by anger. Bastila knew what was happening and did nothing. _I want no more Councils peopled with Jedis who will not act when there is cause, _she thought. "Where will the Council convene?"

Jolee shrugged. "You could probably ask Onasi's boy. Sounded like he has the latest on the particulars."

"But you will go, won't you?"

Jolee sighed . "I suppose I have to now that you're here and I can't very well play ignorant. But I won't like it."

"It does not please you to be a Jedi Master?"  
"Please me?" Jolee snorted again. "I got the Force in me and I know how to use it. You can slap any title on me you want, won't change that one bit, so why bother? Bastila only did it to settle me down, but I won't go so easy."

Dane furrowed her brows. "What do you mean?"

Jolee studied her for bit, his brown eyes boring into hers. "Not now," he said finally. "That's for another time, too. Someday, I'll share with you all my own fool notions on the Force but you didn't come here to listen to an old man ramble about himself. Now," he said, and settled back into his chair, "why don't you tell me why you _did_ come here?"

"I didn't have much choice," Dane said ruefully. "We crashed, I—"

"_Pshaw_," Jolee snorted. "That's _how _you got here. I asked _why._"

Dane thought for a minute. She respected the Force enough to understand what the old man meant. "To find you, I think. You are another step on the path that leads to Revan," she said.

Jolee nodded. "Revan. Aye, that sounds about right. Can't touch the Force with your pinky finger without touching Revan somehow. All right, I'll be your stepping stone to her, missy, so you go ahead and ask that big burning question you've been dying to ask."

Dane found her eyes filling with tears, though she couldn't say why. "How did you know…?"  
"How did I know that you needed someone to talk to?" Jolee's stern demeanor softened. "I'm a Jedi Master, remember?" he said with a wink.

_I have only known him for a few moments and yet I want to tell him everything. _"I want to know if I am doing the right thing." Dane stated. She didn't elaborate and she saw that she didn't have to, and her affinity for the old man intensified.

"Don't we all?" Jolee murmured, almost to himself. "You want to know if tracking down Revan is a good idea or not." He looked at her intently. "No, that's not it. You already know that's the right thing to do and I'm not going to tell you any different. Something's going on out there—" he waved his hand in the general direction of the window—"and I got sense enough to know you're part of it. But that's not your present quandary, now, is it?."

Dane shook her head. She wanted to tell him, this wise, kind old man, every last secret in her heart, and suddenly she found herself doing exactly that. She told him about Atton and all that had transpired over the last few weeks. She told him of how she had meant to leave him in order to protect him and how she had failed. She told him, with tears coursing down her cheeks, of how she had thought he was dead and of the responsibility she felt towards keeping him safe now that she knew he was not. And she told him how, when she finally left to seek Revan, she would have to leave him behind…and how it would break her heart to do it.

Jolee listened intently, silently. He asked no questions, he did not offer any useless sympathy that would only make her feel worse. He just listened, and when she was done, he handed her a handkerchief and sat back in his chair, nodding to himself.

"I'm sorry," Dane said, dabbing her eyes. "We've only just met and here I am burdening you with my problems."

Jolee smiled gently. "I may be old, but I can take a burden that size."

Dane returned the smile with a grateful one of her own. "Thank you for letting me vent," she said. "I—"

"No, no, no, no," Jolee said, leaning forward, stern again. "I'll let you talk my ear off if you've a mind to, but you got to be honest with me. You didn't tell me all this to get it off your chest. You told me because you're confused as all get out and don't know what to do."

Dane sat back amazed, for he was exactly right. The refrain in her head needed an answer and the old man knew it. _The Force is very strong with him,_ she thought with relief.

"You think I'm some wise old Jedi with the secrets of the universe at my hand," Jolee continued. "Well, that may be true, but you told me all about this Atton fellow because what you really want is for someone to straighten you out. You've been giving orders your whole life. First in the war, then on that fool traipse around the galaxy with that old crone Kreia—oh, yes I knew what was happening, most Jedi did, even if we were too cowardly to step forward and help. We felt the echo in the Force—that wound—and got scared and any Jedi who crawls out of the woodwork now and tells you differently is a liar." Jolee blinked and shook his head. "Where was I? Oh yes, you've been bossing people around so long for so long, you can't see straight anymore. Not that you shouldn't have been—you're worth your salt as a leader, I can see that about you plain as day, but you've taken on so much responsibility, you don't know if you're coming or going. You want someone to tell you what to do, plain and simple."

"Why is that?" Dane returned, denying nothing. "Why was I able to lead garrisons into war, fight Dark Sith Lords one after the other, destroy entire planets and yet these last few days…I've been so lost."

"Why do _you_ think that is?"

Dane shrugged, feeling slightly chagrined. "I've been tortured, threatened with rape, had the Force taken from me—"

"That's a load of malarkey. The only difference between the horrors of the war and whatever horrors you've endured recently is that you've fallen in love."

Dane blushed to hear the words spoken aloud by another. Jolee must've seen her color for he settled back in his chair and when he spoke again, it was in a gentler tone.

"It's easier to face war and anything else this life throws at you when you only have to worry about yourself. Now, I don't mean you never cared for any your troops or that you didn't have friends, but you weren't in love then, were you? And that's different. You are now and it's messing with your mind. You not only got to worry about yourself, but you got to worry about him, _and_ you got to worry about how you'll take it if and when something happens _to_ him, you see? Now, I'm sure you're going to try to lay a bunch of bull on me about the Code and how you don't want to break it. I may have just met you, but I know you a little bit, and I know that bothers you."

"It does," Dane replied. "But what is worse is that I don't feel that the Code is worth more than Atton. I want to value it and abide it and pass it on to others but I can't see giving him up for it. I am too selfish, perhaps."

Jolee rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you're selfish all right. And I'm a Gamorrean's grandmother. Your problem is, you're not selfish _enough_." He leaned forward and patted her hand. "Listen to me, missy. The last thing you want to do is wake up three or four or ten years from now and have only memories of death and pain and war. You may have to leave him to find that fool woman Revan, but build some memories with that man of yours first so you have something to look back on. At the very least do that…for him and for yourself."

Dane absorbed his words and then sighed with relief. She couldn't abide thinking that loving someone as much as she loved Atton could somehow be wrong, and the knowledge that she wasn't alone among Jedi in thinking so was a tremendous weight off her shoulders. She smiled at him. "Thank you, Jolee," she said quietly.

"Hmmph! Don't thank me," he said, leaning away from her again. "I didn't come to Manaan to talk about your love life, but if it helps clear your head, then I'm glad. I need you alert and sharp for what we're going to do."

"And what is that?" Dane asked, intrigued. "I had thought you said there was to be a new Council convening…?"

"We got time. That's another problem of yours," Jolee scolded. "You're always rushing around, not taking time for yourself. Rest a bit before you go jumping off to Coruscant or wherever it is we'll have to go. You need it. Your crew needs it. And _I_ need it. There was many an hour I wondered what I was doing on this fool planet that doesn't even have the common sense to grow some land on itself. But now that you're here, I see what is to happen."

Dane shook her head. "I don't understand."

"You got the Force in you, but good, and I need your help…for a few days at least. All that healing stuff I was telling you about? You and I, we're going to figure it out, and when we do, there is going to be a lot fewer stories in the galaxy like the one about your friend."

Dane's heart sang and she impulsively jumped out of her chair and threw her arms around the old man. "I am so glad I found you," she said against his shoulder.

"Now, now," Jolee returned, patting her awkwardly on the back. "You get out of here and get some rest. Talk to that man of yours before he sulks himself into a stupor. In a few days, I'll show you what I've been working on and then—if we must—we'll go wherever Bastila insists we go. Alright?"

A dark thought intruded on her happiness and she released Jolee from her embrace. "What is Bastila going to say about Atton and myself? I don't want to repair things with him only to have them torn down again by a Jedi Council. I don't want him or myself to be punished and I won't have the Force taken from me again. I won't," she said fiercely.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Jolee said, holding his arms up as though to ward off a blow. "First of all, you're _on_ the Council, if there is one, so you have a say this time, and secondly," his voice became softer, "no one is going to take anything from you, missy. I promise you that."

Dane's ire slipped away and she suddenly felt so much love for the old man. _I have a friend again, _she thought and while no one could ever replace Bao-Dur in her heart, the old Jedi had a place right beside him. "You are not like any Jedi I have ever met," Dane said with a warm smile.

"Damn skippy," he retorted. "You may have already guessed," Jolee said, "but I'm not one for Jedi nonsense and rules and light side and dark and all that rot. The Force is what it is and Jedis use it as they will, but I don't think passion is a bad thing, and living your life like a _serene_ lump on a log is hardly living in my book."

Dane smiled. "I agree," she said. "Thank you again. I—"  
"If you thank me one more time I might just sick up on myself. Go! Shoo!" Jolee waved his hands at her. "I'll call on you in a day or two and we'll get to work."

"All right," Dane said softly and left the old Jedi's room. She paused outside his door and listened to him mutter and grumble to himself behind it. She smiled fondly and stepped down the hall.

Whatever had impelled her to seek Jolee out had been satiated and now weariness crept back into her body…as did doubt. Her conversation with the Jedi was fresh in her mind but talking about Atton and talking _to _Atton were two different things. _But there are things he must know and abide,_ she thought. _I will seek out Revan and I will do it alone…to save him from whatever horrors wait and to save myself from ever losing him again._

* * *

Atton had emerged from his soak in the kolto tank in a much better humor than before. The cessation of pain had done wonders for his mood and as he keyed the door to his and Dane's hotel room, he regretted his harsh words to her. He regretted them more when he stepped inside and found Dane in the refresher station, sitting in the bathtub, her knees pulled up to her chin and one hand scooping water onto the place on the back of her neck where the implant had been. 

"It's not there any more, babe," he said gently, stepping towards her. He knelt beside the tub and rested his arms on the rim and then his chin on his arms.

"I know," she said with a soft sigh. She leaned her cheek on her knees and looked at him. "You look much better. I was worried."

"I'm okay," he said. "Are you?"

Dane shrugged. "I'm better."

Atton didn't like the sound of that. _The Force knows what happened to her on that ship. I've been such an ass…_ "Do you want to tell me about it?"

She shook her head. "No. Not now. Someday, maybe. Let me see your hand."

He offered her his injured hand that a hundred hours in a kolto tank would never heal. Dane pressed his fingers to her lips and then placed his hand between hers. He felt her call the Force, felt her channel it into his hand…and then the pain and stiffness was gone. He flexed it a few times experimentally, marveling at her power. She had healed it completely….

…Dane released his hand and watched him as he clenched it and unclenched it. She could feel his amazement at her ability. _He can learn to do the same, if only he'd try,_ she thought.

"Thanks, sweets. For a while there, I thought I was stuck with it the way it was." His eyes darkened at memories she didn't share.

"Do you want to tell _me_ about it?" Dane asked gently.

Atton shook his head, a dry smile on his lips. "Nah, it's over."

There was a silence and then Dane said, "Thank you for coming to get me." The words sounded trite and empty, but she didn't know what else to say. The gulf between them was still there and she couldn't make it go away some Force healing and a thank you.

"I will always come to get you, babe," Atton replied. "As long as you'll let me," he added gently but pointedly.

Dane looked at him then, at his gray-green eyes that were watching her intently, at the crooked smile he wore. _He is so beautiful, _she thought for the hundredth time. _Jolee was right. I want to remember those eyes and that smile. I want to build a thousand memories with him and take them with me when I go. _"Atton, I'm sorry—" she began, but he cut her off.

"No, babe, don't be," he said. He reached out and stroked her hair the way she liked and was comforted by. "You've been through hell and back, and I had my own little adventure, but they're over now. Let's just forget it. I'm just happy you're alive and okay. That's all that matters."

"It's not that simple…" Dane began but he interrupted her again.

"Sure it is," he said, flashing her one of his rakish grins. "And you want to know something else? I reek like kolto," he said, getting to his feet. "And that's a fact. Shove over."

"What?"

"Shove over," he said again, kicking off his boots.

"Atton, wha—"

"Come on, move it," Atton said, "you're hogging the whole tub."

"What are you doing?" Dane asked and then couldn't help but laugh as he clambered into the bathtub behind her, fully clothed. Water sloshed over the side as he stretched out his long legs on either side of her.

"That's better," he said. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him, her back to his chest.

Dane sighed as he kissed the back of her neck gently and then rested his chin on her shoulder. "What am I going to do with you?" she asked.

"I can think of several things," Atton said, his hand slipping down over her breast. He kissed her neck over and over, gently biting the soft flesh there. Dane wanted nothing more than to give in to her desire for him, but things were not settled between them and she reluctantly tore herself away and stepped out of the bath. She pulled on a soft bathrobe and said, "We have to talk."

Atton groaned and slid down deeper into the bath, resting his elbows on the sides. "The four dreaded words no man wants to hear," he muttered.

"I know but we…Are you going to stay in there?" Dane asked, suppressing a smile. He looked so silly, sitting in the bath fully clothed, but instead of getting out, he leaned back further and submerged himself up to his chin.

"It's comfortable in here," he said. "And besides, I know what you're going to say."

"You do?"

"Yep. I do," Atton replied, making little splashes in the water with his fingertips. "You're going to tell me that the reason you are afraid of us being together on this little quest is because you don't want me to die along the way. And then you're going to tell me that the Code demands a solitary life and that you don't want to break it. And you'll follow that up with how a bunch of Jedi are going to get together soon and you don't want them to punish you and take the Force from you because of me. And then, to cap it all off, you're going to tell me that you have to leave to find Revan alone and I can't come with. Right?"

Dane sat down on the bed that was not far from the bathtub in their little room. "I would have said exactly that if it wasn't for the wise council I have had."

"Who's that? Macen?" Atton asked harshly.

"He is only a friend," Dane said softly. "And no, not him. There is another Jedi here, another of Revan's crew…"

"Fantastic," Atton griped. "Just what we need…more Jedis…and from _her_ crew no less."

"Atton, you are a Jedi, or have you forgotten that?" Dane asked, feeling as though the conversation was spinning out of control. But he must've seen something in her face for he softened.

"Sorry, babe," he muttered. "I just don't like that Macen…I don't trust him. And I don't like—" he bit off his words and looked away.

"What?" Dane pressed gently.

Atton looked at her. "I don't like that he was there with you and I wasn't."

"He helped me through the worst of it, Atton, but he could never take your place. Butyou're right about me being afraid to lose you…" She looked away as tears began to fill her eyes and she impatiently wiped them with the heel of her hand.

Atton sighed. "You're not going to lose me, sweets. I promise."

"You can't make that promise, Atton," Dane replied. "You were dead to me once already." She took a steadying breath and brought herself under control. "But I've come to terms with that. I imagine we are out of danger now and I would rather spend whatever time I have before I go to Revan, with you. If you'll stay with me for a little longer, I… I would like that."

Atton's hardened expression softened and he sat up in the tub. "Of course, I'll stay with you, babe. That's all I want. That's all I've ever wanted since that day on Peragus when you walked into the room wearing only your underwear."

Dane returned the smile, but only for a moment. She looked at him intently. "But Atton, I need you to promise me two things, and then this can be settled."

"What?" Atton asked, leaning back as though bracing himself.

"First, promise me that after we've had some rest, we'll resume your Jedi training." Her blue eyes caught and held his. "It is important, and we—I—have been lax in seeing that you make use of your power. The Force is strong in you, Atton, and should not go to waste. Promise me you will continue with your training."

Atton considered this for a moment. "Yeah," he said, "all right. Gods know the Force saved my sorry ass more than one time on that barge."

Dane nodded, relieved. _And now the hard part…_"Secondly, I want you to promise me that when I leave to seek Revan, you will not try to stop me or follow after. Please, my love. Promise me…"

Atton nodded slowly. "If you feel that way about it, fine. I won't stop you," he said, but Dane felt his defiance. She watched him through narrowed eyes. "What?" Atton demanded. "I said I'd let you go—I didn't say I liked it."

Dane nodded but said nothing. _That is not all. There is something else there—a kind of hardness that wasn't in him before. _But Atton was getting out of the tub. He approached her, dripping a trail of water all over the floor. He took her gently by the shoulders.

"But you got to promise me something too, sweets," he said. "Promise me that this time you're talking about—promise me it's mine. Don't shut me out, all right? Will you do that?"

Dane nodded, conscious of his nearness. "Yes, Atton," she replied. He smiled down at her and then pulled her close. His tunic was wet against her cheek but she didn't care.

He held her like that for long moment and then his hands went to the lapels of her robe. He gently pushed the material off her shoulders and bent down, kissing her over her heart. "I love you, babe," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin.

Dane closed her eyes and ran her fingers through his hair. "I love you," she whispered. He stood straight and smiled down at her. Dane's heart pounded as he moved to kiss her for it seemed like ages since that happy morning after their first night together.

His lips were soft and warm on hers, and Dane melted into the kiss that deepened quickly. His hands went to her hair and pulled it free of its ties so that it fell around her face. "This is how you wear it for me," he said huskily. Dane could only nod and then his mouth was on hers again. She became lost in the sensations of his touch and they kissed until they were breathless. Her robe fell away under his deft hands, as did his wet clothes, and then he lay over her on the bed.

They sought to make up for everything they had lost, and it was as if, in their separation, all the burgeoning desire and affection they had found and that was so abruptly taken from them, was given free reign. Dane clutched Atton to her, wanting to feel his skin on hers and his heart pounding against her own. She felt the sheer vitality of him as he moved against her, and when it was over, and they lay entangled together on the bed, Dane held on to him, reluctant to let go. _I will come back for him…I must, for I can't lose this again, _she thought and then sleep, finally, claimed them both.

* * *

**Author's notes**: Talk talk talk talk talk.. Not an action-packed chapter, I admit, but some things needed to be established so thanks for bearing with me.

**Notes to Reviewers:**

To **demonessjo**: Don't worry, this thing will be kept very Dane/Atton-centric. Their relationship will still be the primary focus no matter what other plot developments occur. Revan is slowly making her way in. Sloowly. I like Lanik and Lirik and if you want a New Character Visual Aid, I modeled them after Cillian Murphy, the Irish actor who was in Batman Begins (the Scarecrow) and 28 Days Later. Google him if you need a refresher...you won't be sorry. :)

To **Kristen:** Yeah, I forgot that I had, a while ago, allowed non-reg users to post reviews. I'm so glad you've liked it so far! And kudos to you for being the first person I have ever heard use the word "tenterhooks," in your Confession review.I had to go look it up, I love that! I was also thrilled to see that you like Macen. I like him too...strong, silent type. Thanks so much for reviewing, I really appreciate it.

To **Miss Becky**: So, as you can see, I compromised. Eek! I hope it isn't too much but I followed your advice and cut what you told me to cut. You were, as always, right on. Thank you! hugs **Miss Becky**

To** gekkeiju**: I'm so glad you liked the Confession.Andyes, Dane and Atton have been through a lot andwhile this chapter mayhave ended rather...er, nicely...I have a feeling it's not going to last long.

To **Revan's Pet Duck**: No Revan, yet and probably not for a while, but she'll find a way to make her presence known...somehow. :)

To** Lunatic Pandora**: I don't have plans for Revan to show up on Manaan but never say never. The story does its own thing sometimes, you know?

To **Kuramas Girl Angel**:I think all my writing of Mission from now on is going to remind me of you. You're such a sweetie (as is she). Thanks for always having a kind word. :)

To **Dragon Scales 13:** Yeah, things are never going to stay good. (it's boring reading firstly, but secondly, the baddies are working hard.) Macen looks back at Dragon Scales through narrowed eyes. :)

The winner of the Next Crossover Character Appearance Contest is...**gt3.14159 **It's not much of a contest, I admit so I don't even have a prize. But yay for **gt3.14159! **(**gt3**, we'll talk :-) )

Thanks again to everyone for all your reviews. They are much appreciated! Like, really. No kidding.

Up next Bastila and Carth realize they have a little problem...


	24. Betrayal

**Chapter 24**

**Betrayal...**

Bastila slowly sank into the chair in front of Admiral Onasi's desk. She looked at her friend as he toyed with the datapad. "Carth, what is it?" she asked softly.

Carth glanced at her and she saw the pain in his eyes, still fresh after all these years. "It's addressed to both of us," he said and smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry, I should have called for you when it came this morning, but…." he sighed. "I wanted to…keep it, for myself for a while. Stupid, I know—"

"No," Bastila said. "I understand." And she did, but the fear in her heart made her worry that enough time had been wasted and that whatever had made Revan break her four-year-long silence was urgent. "May I see it?"

"Yeah," Carth said, handing it over. "It's not good."

Bastila took the datapad and quickly scanned its contents and she agreed with Carth. It wasn't good. Not at all.

Revan wrote in the same manner as she spoke—direct and to the point. Bastila could almost hear the woman's words, speaking to her from across unknown distances as she read the short paragraphs.

_Carth and Bastila,_

_I know you are gathering a new Council of Jedi Masters and while I sense your reasoning for doing so, I sense too the danger that you are calling down upon yourselves. The Sith threat is a real one and your security has been compromised. They are among you and they know what you seek to do. I do not advise convening the Council on Coruscant. An attack is imminent and no matter how greatly you prepare, Carth, to protect them, the attack will not only come from without, but from within as well. The Sith are not weak, nor are they without ammunition. You will be taken unaware and the Jedi Council you seek to gather will be destroyed. _

_Move the Council off-planet. Tell no one, including the Masters around you, what you are going to do until you do it. You must behave and plan as though the meeting is to take place on schedule, and then evacuate the Masters from Coruscant. With the proper strategies, you, Carth, can surprise the Sith attack when it happens and perhaps ferret out the traitor among you. I leave that in your hands. As for where to convene, I suggest Dantooine. I know it must seem obvious, and the Sith will surely guess where you have gone, but by then you will have bought the time you need. Dantooine is nearly uninhabited. You cannot risk another Katarr. Go to Dantooine, convene your Council, rally and consolidate the Jedi forces, and then prepare for a Sith attack. I cannot, at this time, help you more than this. _

_Good luck to you both…and may the Force be with you._

_--Revan _

The cold, detached manner in which Revan wrote—completely devoid of emotion or sentiment, struck Bastila and her heart went out to Carth even as it recoiled for the threat Revan warned them of. _A traitor…Who can she speak of? _Aloud she said, "Has anyone else seen this?"

Carth shook his head. He wasn't looking at her but stroking his chin, his eyes dark. "No. The courier gave it no special attention and Arax—_Revan_," he corrected himself, "encrypted the datacard heavily with an alpha-numeric sequence she knew only I would know."

Bastila breathed a sigh of relief. She should have known Revan would take such precautions. She was—or had been—one of the greatest strategists the galaxy had ever seen. Revan was not, by any means, careless.

"What do we do?" Bastila breathed. "I am reluctant to convene the Council at all. If the Exile is as important as Juhani's Padawan states, she can come to me privately. I will postpone a formal convening until it is safe. Until—"

"You should do exactly as Revan says," Carth said dully. He looked at Bastila for the first time since she arrived, his brown eyes boring into hers. "You read her warning. It is not only that the Sith will attack the Council. They are gathering their strength. They're a damn threat. If you don't rally what few Jedi that are left, they're going to roll right in here again. It only took one Sith Lord to destroy Katarr. Force against Force, Bastila. There is no more waiting."

Bastila sat back in her chair. She had never heard Carth, normally jovial and kind, take such a harsh tone with her, but she knew her friend was right. Although common sense told her that convening a Council was like sending an open invitation for attack, she knew she had to take the risk. The Exile was powerful, had defeated three Sith Lords almost single-handedly, but the Sith, Bastila knew, would not make the same mistakes twice. _Already they have infiltrated us. I have failed. _

"The traitor…" she muttered. She could hardly stand to look at Carth for her shame.

But Carth only shrugged. He seemed defeated somehow and Bastila knew her friend was still wrestling with the fact that Revan's first and only communication to him was so…empty. "Do you have a guess?" he asked. "'Cause I sure do. Lanik Thrakill. He's new, he wasn't a part of our crew like the others…"

"No," Bastila said sharply—more sharply than she intended. She softened her tone. "No, I have spent…some time with Lanik, and I would sense the darkness in him. I would."

Carth shrugged again. "I'll leave that up to you. Sorry, but I have my orders," he said bitterly, nodding at the datapad. "You go along as though you are going to convene the Council here and I'll prepare an ambush."

Bastila nodded. "How much of this will you share with the Republic commanders? Should we alert them to the danger?"

"That would ruin any chance of surprise, immediately. The Sith would see the red tape from a kilometer away. No, I'll carry on as though I'm planning routine security for you. Not even my team will know what is happening until I feel they'll need to know it."

Bastila shivered. "All right. You know, there is good news in this missive," she said quietly.

"Oh, yeah? What's that?" Carth asked without energy.

"She hasn't fallen to the dark side, Carth," Bastila said. "Wherever she had gone and whatever she is doing, she has not fallen. She would not have warned us otherwise."

Carth nodded absently though Bastila could see he was not convinced. "Maybe. Maybe this is a red herring to throw us off, after all. Maybe the attack is to come on Dantooine."

Bastila shook her head. "You know that is not true. You said yourself that we must follow her advice on this matter. She—"

"Then why did she leave?" Carth demanded with sudden fury. He slammed his fist on the table and his brown eyes were alight as he stared at Bastila. "She just up and left that night. Why? One note she gives me? One note to say goodbye and then nothing!" Carth's hand strayed to the inner pocket of his jacket and Bastila—who knew of the existence of Revan's final note to him but had never read it—thought for a moment he was going to show it to her. _He carries it with him, still… _But her thoughts were interrupted as Carth continued his pained tirade.

"And she isn't coming here, Bastila," Carth thundered. "Your meeting is of the Jedi Masters and where is she? If she has not fallen to the dark side, then why isn't she coming?"

"I don't know. Please, I know this is difficult—"

"Difficult, yeah, you could say that."

Bastila said nothing. She could have guessed that the sudden communication from Revan after four years of silence would take its toll on her friend. The pain that he had been harboring for so long—pain that had been walled up and buried for years—was thrust back out into the harsh light of day, naked and raw.

"It would be better is she had fallen! At least then there would be some kind of reason, some damn explanation." Carth settled back into his chair slowly and ran his hands through his hair. "I can cope with her falling to the dark side. That would have at least made sense. I can reconcile that. I can't reconcile this…" he gestured at the datapad in Bastila's hands as though it was a pile of rancor dung. "I'm glad she's warning us, Bastila, really, I am, but you know what? That's the damn least she can do."

Bastila waited until she was sure he had finished. Then, quietly, she said, "I know, Carth, but she's made contact. That's a start. Perhaps, this datapad is the beginning of her return."

Carth looked at her and Bastila resisted the urge to shrink back in her chair. "We've been friends for a long time, and you've never once lied to me," he said. "Don't start now."

Bastila said nothing. He was right, of course. She doubted very much that Revan would ever return, but she had what Carth had long since lost. Hope. She returned the datapad to Carth. "You must destroy it," she said gently and rose to leave.

"I know," Carth said, taking it from her and turning it over and over in his hands. "I'm sorry," he said, looking up at her. "I didn't mean—"

"It's all right," Bastila said. "But you must destroy that datapad," she repeated. It was far too dangerous for him to hold on to it as he had held onto Revan's note.

"I will, I swear," he said. "Be careful, Bastila," he added, almost absently.

"I'll be careful, Carth," she replied. She wanted to say more, to comfort him somehow, but she hadn't the words. _He loves her still and anything I say will be empty and meaningless. I can't change Revan no matter how I'd like to. _With a heavy heart, she quietly stepped out of his office, leaving him alone with the datapad.

Carth continued to turn it over and over in his hands and then read it thrice over. _There is nothing in here…_he thought, still angry that the old wounds could be torn open so easily. He stared at the words she had written from wherever she was in the galaxy. "She is far, far away," he muttered and without another word, tossed the entire datapad into the incinerator at his desk that he used for destroying sensitive or confidential data. In a matter of seconds, it was gone.

* * *

Bastila nearly cancelled her dinner with Lanik. Her meeting with Carth had brought up her own pain—she and Revan had a Force bond and it was impossible not to feel the void left in her absence. Only two things kept her from canceling: Revan's admonition to carry on as though nothing was amiss, and the plain and simple fact Bastila wanted to be in the Lanik's company. The latter reason, she blushed to admit, nearly carried more sway than the former, and so Bastila was in the Arboretum at the appointed time. 

Lanik approached her with a smile on his handsome features that quickly decayed into a frown of worry and Bastila knew at once her apprehension and fear were written all over her face, if not tangible through the Force. She brightened, though, at his appearance, and quickly buried her concerns.

"Bastila," Lanik said, taking her hand in his and touching it to his lips. "You still seem troubled," he said as they began to walk. He took her arm and laced it through his own as they strolled through the green gardens in the dusky twilight. "I don't know that I have earned your confidence, but I offer my ear if it helps you unburden yourself."

"It is nothing, Lanik," she said, enjoying the feel of his Jedi robes and the strong arm underneath. "It is a great responsibility to convene a new Council. I wonder sometimes if I am prepared to do so." Her words sounded plausible enough, for they were partly true as well. She looked at the ground and therefore did not see the shrewd, calculating look Lanik levied at her. When she next looked up at him he was smiling gently down at her.

"I don't deny what you are to do is important," he said, "but I would never doubt your abilities."

Bastila beamed at the compliment. "Enough of my silly concerns. They are born of pride only and not worth the time. Now, where are we dining?"

"The Nova," Lanik replied.

Bastila stopped walking abruptly. "The Nova? Lanik, no. It is too expensive. How can you afford—" she bit off her words, not wishing to be rude, but the Nova was one of the finest restaurants on all of Coruscant.

"How can I afford such a place on a Jedi's allowance?" Lanik asked. "I am shamed to admit it, Bastila, but my brother has sent me some money. No doubt his winnings from some gamble or another. It is a habit of our early years, when we were poverty-stricken and destitute. After our parents died, we made a vow to one another that we would never allow the other to want for anything, if we could manage it. I have tried to tell him I no longer need such materialistic things—not to mention that he should mind that he is a Jedi now and gambling and other vices are not worthy of him. But," Lanik sighed, "old habits die hard…and old suffering fades slowly."

Bastila could only nod and as they resumed walking. He had never spoken of his past before, and she had not known that his childhood was one of pain and loss. She tightened her grip on his arm. "Thank you, Lanik," she said softly. "Thank you that you would spend your fortunes on me. It is not necessary though." _Or proper, _came the sobering thought but she pushed it away.

He regarded her with those luminous blue eyes of his. "I know, but I want to do it. You are a lady, Bastila, even as you are a Jedi, and you ought to be treated as such."

They said nothing further as they made their way through the Arboretum and out into the streets of Coruscant, but walked in comfortable silence. Revan's warning to Bastila was the farthest thing from her thoughts…she could think of nothing but Lanik.

The dinner was delicious, the atmosphere of the Nova impeccable, and the Corellian wine the finest Lanik had ever tasted…and by the time it was over, he was more than ready to strangle his beautiful guest.

He had tried every conceivable—and plausible—way in which to coax from Bastila the secret she was hiding, all to no avail. The Jedi woman was reticent from the appetizers to the dessert and Lanik thought he would be sick from the amount of trite, treacley words of flattery, romance, and respect he had forced himself to utter through the course of the evening. He was more refined than his brother, true, but to pretend to woo the enemy for such a stretch was beginning to fray his nerves. _And I can't keep harping on the subject or she will grow suspicious. _He had even elaborated on his and Lirik's tumultuous childhood, painting their past in broad stokes of humble destitution, hoping to play on her sympathies. Lanik considered his past the foundation and strength for his dark side power and was not in the least pained by relating some of the more troubling events of his younger days, but Bastila ate it up…and returned nothing but blushes and gentle words.

Lanik knew what he had to do, and while his body would no doubt appreciate and be pleasured by physical affection with the beautiful young woman, his twisted and blacked soul shuddered at the prospect on every other level. _It may be a moot point anyway,_ he thought as he paid the bill and the two of them left the dark, dimly lit confines of the restaurant. _That pathetic corruption of the Code will no doubt make her reluctant, but I have to try. _He remembered the count's words and the pain of the Force shock he had felt through his twin. While he knew Lirik to be safely on route to Manaan, Lanik had no intention of failing his master again. Sooner or later, he—and Lirik—would pay if he could not discover what it was the Jedi woman was hiding, for he somehow knew it was vitally important.

Therefore, when the two of them returned to the Jedi Temple, he insisted upon seeing her safely to her room. _Perhaps with physical intimacy, I may sense what she is unwilling to say, _he thought as they paused outside her door.

"I had a wonderful evening," Bastila murmured, and Lanik could practically hear her heart pounding harder; Jedi or no, they both knew they had been on a date, and there were certain social customs that inevitably accompanied such things.

"As did I, Bastila," Lanik replied, making his voice low and husky. "Only I must admit I feel…vexed." He laid his hand on her cheek, wondering if he was being too bold, but she only shivered pleasurably and did not pull away. "I see pain in your eyes, and I…I'm sorry," he said, moving closer to her.

"What are you sorry for?" she asked, her voice no more than a whisper.

"I'm sorry that I can do nothing to make it go away," he whispered, inclining his head towards her. His lips brushed hers…but then she turned her head.

"Lanik, I can't," she murmured, but she did not step away from him. "We are Jedi…"

"I know," he said, holding her tighter. "It is wrong but I can't help myself. Bastila," he breathed her name and then kissed her ardently. She stiffened in his arms but only for a moment. He felt her melt against him and return his kiss with her own, gentle passion.

Lanik admitted he enjoyed the sensations of her body against his but it was over after only a few moments. She broke their kiss and stepped away. "I...I shouldn't have done that," she said, smoothing her hair and straightening her robes.

_Damn,_ Lanik thought. Aloud he said, "No, it is I who should apologize. I had a moment of weakness. Forgive me, Master Shan. It will not happen again."

His cold words had the desired effect of killing the stern, collected demeanor she had been trying to affect and the disappointment on her face was apparent. "Please, don't…" She struggled for a moment and then said, "Please don't call me that."

Lanik stepped towards her slowly. "Bastila, I am torn. The part of me that is Jedi knows what I must and must not do, but another part…" He looked into her brown eyes. "Another part of me wants only to be with you. I…_care_ for you, Bastila…a great deal. I didn't mean for it to happen, but it has, and now I want only to protect you, to be with you, to share your _every _burden so that you do not struggle alone." Lanik knew he was laying it on thick, but he saw that her resistance was blowing away faster than a house of _sabacc_ cards in a stiff wind. He reached for her again but at the last moment, she again pulled away.

"I care for you too, Lanik," she said softly. "But now I…I have much to do and prepare. I need…time, please. I have not yet reconciled my feelings for you," she continued, speaking in bolder tones, "and I must meditate on them. I need clarity and focus. Too much wine," she said with a soft laugh and then her expression grew serious again. "Please, go now. And don't think ill of me. I want…what you want but I must think on things. Please."

Lanik clenched his jaw but managed a small, resigned smile. He bowed low to her and took her hand in his, pressing it to his lips, as was his custom. "Of course, my darling. Take whatever time you need. It would serve me well to meditate, as you will, to clear my mind. But I think, Bastila," he added, resting her hand against his cheek, "I think it will take many hours to clear my mind of thoughts of you."

He left her then and as soon as his back was to her, an ugly scowl marred his handsome features. _The bitch will talk before the week is out, I swear it, _he vowed bitterly and returned to his own small cell in the nearly empty Jedi Temple. When the door was safely shut and he was alone, Lanik closed his eyes. _Brother, be warned, _he sent to Lirik. _Something is wrong… _

* * *

Lirik Thrakill heard his brother's words but was in no position to respond at length to them. A manager named Ignus was scowling at him as he checked into the last vacant room in Ahto City's only hotel. 

"Will that be all, Master Jedi?" Ignus asked curtly.

"Yes, thanks," Lirik said, glancing around. He neither saw, nor felt any sign of the Exile in the hotel's little lobby. _But she is here, I know it. I can sense her wholesome presence like a foul stench on the wind. _He flashed a charming smile at the manager who glowered at him in return. "Actually, no, that is not all. I am looking for a friend of mine. Well, a friend of friends of mine. You haven't happened to see another Jedi here?"

Ignus rolled his eyes. "This place is crawling with Jedi. Who's your friend? The woman or the old man? Or the young man?" he added after a moment, as though just remembering, with a pang, that there were _three _Jedi hanging around his hotel.  
Lirik hadn't expected that, but he maintained his composure. _Other Jedi? Bad luck! _he thought. "The woman," he answered. "A woman Jedi, and very easy on the eyes, by all accounts."

Ignus snorted. "Yeah, she's here. They're all three here, though I haven't seen the woman in a day or two. Probably recovering from the crash."

Lirik raised his eyebrows. "A crash? How terrible," he said, smiling brightly. "Well, if she is around, I suppose I shall bump into her sooner or later." He leaned into the manager and whispered confidentially, "Force powers, you know."

Ignus backed away as though Lirik had bit him. "Uh huh," he muttered and his scowl deepened.

"Well, thanks very much, kind sir," Lirik said and grabbed the keycard from the desk. He started to his room, thinking hard on what kind of a wrench the other Jedis could throw into his plans and then he was angry. _I don't need this aggravation right after such a long journey to this watery hole. _He stopped at the turbolift and turned to the manager. "One last thing, my good fellow," he said, his smile not touching his eyes at all. "Where do I go to get a drink?"

* * *

Dane woke with the late morning sun slanting over her, warming her face. She sat up slowly. Her body felt heavy and relaxed after finally getting the sleep it had been deprived of for so long. She blinked at the light coming in from the window, calculating that it had been nearly two full days since she had gone to sleep. _Not just sleep, _she amended with a small smile for the figure lying beside her. 

Atton was lying on his stomach, his face half-buried in his pillow, snoring softly. Dane watched as the light played over the muscles of his back and she gently touched his smooth skin. He stirred but did not wake up. A part of her wished him to, wished that he would take her in his arms and they could—again—become lost in one another's embrace. _But he was so weary. I will let him rest. _Carefully, so as not to wake him, Dane crawled out of bed and slipped on her robes. She sat cross-legged on the floor and closed her eyes, thinking it had been too long since she had properly meditated.

Her thoughts went, surprisingly, to Bao-Dur. She realized with start that she had never considered her friend's visitations since they had begun and she hoped, with a pang in her heart, that they had not ceased. With the Force restored to her, she sent out a call to him, for she knew it could only be through the Force that he had contacted her at all. But there was nothing. She went over each of his visitations and realized that he came only during times of great stress and need.

Dane sighed and glanced at Atton still sleeping deeply, and thought that Bao-Dur had little cause to come to her now. _Or does he? _she thought. _I am better now, but Atton…_ She sighed again. Despite their time together over the last day and a half, she knew something had changed between them. He was different, somehow, and Dane had little doubt that her insistence on seeking Revan alone still rankled him. He had promised to let her go but Dane simply didn't believe him. _I don't want the memories I build with him to be tense and full of unspoken words and broken promises. _All the comfort and relief she had found with Jolee's advice was now turning sour and so Dane turned to the only thing left she could truly count on, the Force. _I must find some peace…_

Dane took a deep breath and concentrated on clearing her mind. The events of the past few weeks crept in on her, but she forced them away. Soon enough, she was calm and had just begun to center herself, to just _be there, _when she felt soft lips on her own and she opened her eyes with a start.

"Hiya, sweets," Atton said, smiling that crooked grin of his. He had been quiet, sneaking out of bed and kneeling in front of her so that they were only inches apart.

Dane smiled. "You startled me." She went to kiss him again but he was already moving away.

"Sorry, didn't mean to," he said, and pulled on his pants. He stretched languidly and gave a jaw-cracking yawn. "I don't know about you, but I am starving. I wonder what kind of food this place has got."

Dane frowned. "I'm sure they have something, but Atton, why don't you come sit here with me and meditate? It is not too soon to take up your training again."

"It is on an empty stomach," he replied, and pulled his shirt over his head. He sat down on the floor, but it was only to put his boots on. "You want me to bring you something? I'll bet you're hungry too." Dane watched silently as Atton jumped up again and put on his ribbed jacket and then fished around in a pocket. He pulled out a worn chrono and checked it. "Damn, it's past noon." Atton bent and kissed her swiftly on the top of her head. "I'll be back in a bit," he said, activating the door. "Love you," he called and then he was gone.

Dane sat for long minutes on the floor of their little room in a kind of shock. The hours they had spent together in each other's arms—sleeping and then not—were suddenly like a dream only, Atton's abrupt departure like a cold hand come to jolt her back to reality. _I wonder if we will ever know peace…or if we are meant to, _she thought. Another voice said, _Perhaps it is not so bad, why jump to such conclusions? He is hungry and nothing more. _Dane nodded to herself but was not comforted by the thought.

She had never been good at lying to herself.

* * *

Atton stood outside the door to his and Dane's room after it had slid shut and he muttered a string of curses. _You're such a bastard. You ran out of there so fast, you're practically dizzy, _he thought. His behavior reminded him of the countless times he had bedded a woman and then made his escape the next morning. _She is not like them…I love her, _he told himself. It was true, but he was also angry—at himself and her. He had told her he would let her seek Revan and not interfere, but it was a lie. _There is no way I'm just going to sit back and watch her leave for some uncharted, Outer Rim rock alone. No way, no how. _But he had promised he would, and now the lie was between them, as was his anger at her for being so bloody willing to leave him. Atton hesitated, debating if he should go back and hold her and tell her he was sorry, or…not. 

Atton stepped away from the door and headed toward the turbolift.

Ignus, helpful as always, informed Atton that the hotel had no dining facilities but that there was a cantina on the ­­­­west side and a restaurant that had once been a Sith base of all things. Atton's first thought was to head to the restaurant, but after a second thought he made for the cantina. _I need a drink…_

Manaan's cantina was fairly small to Atton's thinking but the fact that it existed at all was a boon to his troubled mind. It curved sharply, wrapping around a bar and ending in, from what Atton could see at his end, a sort of lounge. Several tables lined the wall, sparsely populated with patrons, and as he stepped inside, Atton heard one man speculate to another about a certain swoop racer's time. _Swoop racing? I haven't ridden a swoop bike in ages, _he thought and a slow smile spread across his face.

It faded the instant he saw Macen Vorn sitting with another man at the bar, their heads bowed in conversation.

The man was a Jedi, of all things, and Atton's improving humor deflated completely. He had half a mind to turn around and leave but his hesitation cost him—Macen saw him and while the man wasn't exactly jumping for joy to see Atton either, he invited him over with a small wave of his hand. The last thing Atton wanted to do was enjoy his drink with Macen and a Jedi but he sure as hell wasn't going to be chased away by them either. "Bloody goddamn shit rotten hell"Atton muttered under his breath and slowly made his way to the bar.

"Macen," he said by way of greeting. "What a surprise to see you here. I thought you'd have jumped off-planet by now." _Right off Manaan and into a black hole would have been a good start. _He eyed the Jedi—a young man with a shock of brown hair and large, laughing blue eyes, and sat down at the bar a short ways from the pair. It was rather too early in the day for whiskey but Atton ordered one from the Selkath bartender anyway.

"You want a stim?" the bartender gurgled at him confidentially.

"No thanks," he replied and the bartender shrugged and poured the whiskey.

"I'm not leaving yet," Macen was saying. "Thought I'd relax for a bit first before striking off again."

"How wonderful for you," Atton muttered under his breath.

"This is Lirik Thrakill," Macen said, indicating the Jedi. "Just arrived. He knows Dane."

Atton had blinked hard when Macen said her name and downed his whiskey in one gulp. _He helped her out on O'Bannon's barge, fine, but he shouldn't be allowed to say her name like that…or at all. _But the Jedi was stretching his arm across the bar to shake Atton's hand and Atton reluctantly shook it.

"Pleasure to meet you," the man named Lirik said brightly. "I've heard a lot about you. Macen here, tells me you're quite a pilot."

"Is that a fact?" Atton asked dully, looking at Macen.

Macen raised his own glass in a kind of salute to him but Atton ignored him. "You two know each other?" he asked.

"No, no," Lirik replied. "I've only just arrived here and thought I'd stop in for a refresher. Macen, here, had just finished a rather impressive run on the swoop track and I had to congratulate him."

Atton nearly snorted but caught himself in time. _Thinks he's a swoop racer, does he? He doesn't know what fast is... _Atton surprised himself at the enormous amount of animosity he felt toward Macen and decided to try to get a grip on himself. _He's probably not all that bad a guy…I just hate his bloody guts. _Atton ordered another whiskey.

"And how do you known Dane?" he asked, though he thought he already knew the answer—at least, he wasn't surprised at Lirik's reply.

"I don't, actually. My brother Lanik is a Jedi Master with Bastila Shan on Coruscant. She has asked me, through him, to escort Master Koren there for the Jedi Council that is to be convened. I am, if you can believe it, to be her honor guard of sorts." Lirik laughed loudly and then instantly grew serious again. "Not that I am not highly honored—Master Koren, from all that I have heard, is a powerful and accomplished Jedi. I laugh because I, myself, am not. I am a lowly Knight…and not a very good one, and the idea of me protecting one such as she is…funny."

Atton raised his eyebrows. The idea that Lirik Thrakill was a Jedi at all was 'funny' in and of itself. He had never met another like him before in his life. Lanik's robes were rumpled and looked slept in. His hair wasn't combed and he had two-days' worth of stubble on his narrow chin. Atton noticed too, Lirik had quite and array of empty glasses in front of him but his eyes were clear and focused. If he was drunk, he hid it well. _Not often you meet a Jedi who can hold his liquor, _Atton thought. _Then again, not often do you meet a Jedi in a cantina in the first place. _The thought struck him as funny as well but he didn't want to be amused and he certainly didn't want to like Lirik. _He may be the only cantina-rat-Jedi in the known universe but he's here to take Dane away. _

"When is this Council supposed to meet?" Atton asked.

"As soon as Master Koren arrives on Coruscant," Lirik replied. "Oh sure, Master Shan may wait for some stragglers, but she won't wait long. It is Master Koren she wants to meet." Lirik raised his eyebrows and gave Atton a knowing look. "She must be…pretty special, eh?" he asked with a grin.

Atton's gaze shot directly to Macen. The older man was studying his drink, a small smile on his lips, looking as though he knew something Atton didn't. _No doubt remembering their time alone together on that blasted barge, _Atton thought darkly.

"Yeah, she's special," he declared loudly. "I would know. She and I—" He bit off his words, suddenly wondering if his and Dane's relationship was going to be an issue among the Jedis even before they held their meeting. But Lirik appeared as though he cared less. On the contrary, he gave Atton a look that said clearly said, "Good for you," and was most un-Jedi-like in its lasciviousness. Atton, against his will, was starting to like him.

"Yes, so I figure sometime soon I should meet Master Koren," Lirik continued with a sigh, "and then it will be off to Coruscant. Everything is always hurry, hurry, hurry and rush, rush, rush," he said. "Rarely do we get to take some time for ourselves, right?" he asked Atton.

"Yeah, I suppose," Atton said slowly.

"For instance," Lirik continued. "Right here is a perfectly fantastic swoop track. Macen told me all about it but do you think you or I are going to get the chance to try it out?"

"You swoop race?" Atton asked incredulously.

Lirik snorted. "Do I swoop race? Suffice it to say that the impressive time Macen posted only fueled my desire to try my hand at it. Do you ride?"

Atton nodded, suddenly very curious as to what time Macen posted. _Whatever it is, I can beat it. _"Yeah, I do," he said aloud. As casually as he could, he asked Macen, "What was your time?"

The older man, who had said little and appeared like a stone compared to the animated Lirik, looked over at Atton and said, "One minute, eighteen seconds."

Atton was extremely grateful he wasn't in the act of taking a sip of his liquor for he certainly would have choked. Once he got over his initial shock he muttered, _almost_ under his breath, "Must be an easy track."

Macen whipped his head around and locked eyes with Atton. Atton held his gaze and the two men stared each other down.

"Whooo," Lirik said between them and then laughed. "I sense some friendly competition here." He elbowed Macen. "Looks like Atton is challenging you, my friend."

Macen blinked first, shaking his head as though amused that he had let Atton bate him. "I don't care. Have at it, Atton."

Lirik looked at Atton questioningly. "Now? Are you ready?" he prompted, his eyes shining with fun.

Atton was about to reply that he was ready any time when a stern, feminine voice cut in.

"No, not now."

All three men swiveled around in their seats to see Dane standing behind them, her arms crossed over her chest and her expression hard. Dustil and Mission were standing beside her, the former in a serious mien and the latter watching the scene with wide eyes.

Atton suddenly felt like he was thirteen years old and had been caught smoking a cigarra in the refresher. But Lirik, he noticed, looked as though he had seen a ghost. The Jedi regarded Dane with wide eyes that held something akin to awe in them. _And fear? He looks like he's afraid she's going to slice his head off. _

"Master Koren," Lirik said nervously. He jumped off his stool and bowed low. Atton was amazed at how fast the young man's jovial demeanor became subdued and quiet. "My name is Lirik Thrakill," he continued. "I have been asked by Bastila Shan to accompany you to Coruscant. It would be my honor to do so."

"Thank you," Dane replied, and Atton could see she was forcing a smile…and refusing to look at him. "This is Mission Vao and Dustil Onasi. Perhaps you know Dustil…?"

Lirik shook his head. His eyes flickered to Dustil and then back to Dane again as though he was unwilling to take his eyes off of her for very long. Atton's first inclination was that he'd have to start watching Lirik too in the same way he eyed Macen, but Lirik's attention to Dane was not attraction, not by a long shot. _I'm a lousy Jedi but I can sense that that guy is _afraid_ of her. _

"No, I'm afraid I don't," Lirik said and gave a hurried bow to Dustil.

Dustil stepped forward, wearing a broad smile. "I haven't met you, Lirik, but I know your brother quite well. He is a fine Jedi…" Dustil cocked his head as he studied Lirik and then laughed. "I'm sorry but the resemblance is uncanny."

Lirik seemed to relax a bit and he chuckled. "Yes, that's why they call us twins," he said and clapped Dustil on the shoulder. Atton watched them. _Instant friendship, just add water, _he thought inanely and was suddenly glad he hadn't drunk anymore whiskey than he already had.

Dane turned to Macen and Atton noted a pleased smile appear as she took a step toward the man.

"I'm so glad you haven't left yet," she said.

Macen returned the smile and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, finding a ride off-planet is more expensive than I thought."

Dane said, "I have credits—" but Macen cut her off.

"No, no, I…Let's talk later. I see you're busy now. Later."

Atton glowered as Dane nodded and said quietly, "All right," and then Macen bid a hurried farewell to everyone.

"Hey Macen," Lirik called, as the man left the cantina, "you'll think about my offer, won't you?"

Macen nodded. "You bet," and then he was gone.

Dane watched him go and then turned to the rest of them. "We have much to talk about," she said quietly. "Shall we?"

Of course, all agreed and Atton—despite the cogent mix of mistrust, jealousy and anger that was roiling around in him—couldn't help but smile as everyone instantly fell in line and headed out of the cantina after her. _She's a natural leader…hell, I'd follow her off the edge of the galaxy if she asked me to. _The warm thought was quickly followed by the sobering one that she _was_ going off the edge of the map and she _hadn't_ asked him to follow after, but he shoved it aside. She was hanging back, directing the others to go to room four in the hotel where someone named Jolee was waiting. She waited until Atton stepped beside her and then she began walking with him.

"Are you drunk?" she asked in a low voice, and Atton was grateful she hadn't called him out in front of the others.

"No, babe," he said. _But I would have been in another three minutes. _He looked away, chagrined.

Dane sighed. "I need you, Atton. I need you to be with me—"

"I am with you, sweets," he said, but she cut him off and stopped walking.

"No, I need you to be _with_ me. You're here, but you're not with me and there's a difference. Do you see?"

Atton nodded. He knew exactly what she meant, but he couldn't quite get there. He he'd throw his whole heart and soul in her lap if it wasn't for the fact that she was going to leave in the end. But just then, with her looking up at him with those big blue eyes of hers and with the memories of what they had shared so recently still fresh in his mind, he didn't want to argue. He wanted to kiss her, but he was conscious of the whiskey on his breath and so he pulled her to him and held her tight, stroking her hair.

He sensed it was what she really wanted anyway.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Well...there it is. I let Dane and Atton be happy for a whole two days...sort of. Thanks again to all my fab-o-lous reviewers and to all those who read but don't review...Yeah, I see you in my hits page, you sneaky little devils. Thanks to you too, for reading my story. 

**Notes to Reviwers:**

To **Miss Becky:** I reeeaaally should have let you beta this one first but oh well. You're advice and insight are, as always invaluable to me. (hugs** Miss Becky)** I'm glad you liked Jolee. I was worried I didn't know him well enough, but he has a distinctive voice and he just started talking away...Thanks for the review, my friend, you're the best.

To** qt3.14159**: Yes, you're reward for winning the New Character Contest is...me mispelling your name. Go me. I'm so sloppy sometimes. Glad you liked Jolee too. He's fun to write and I think he's going to be helping Dane in a **major **way in the not-too-distant future.

To **Magenta2**:O' writer of wondrous reviews, I thank you. Really, the in-depth, what works, what doesn't kind of review is my favorite. Thank you so much for yours. Yeah, the love scene...well, let's just say there was heavy debate as to what went there, but I think it turned out OK. I'm glad you think so too. Thanks again and I hope you like what's up next.

To **gekkeiju:** I'm the biggest sap in the world. Don't believe me? Read Chap 9 again. Gives me cavities.:) And yes, if I kept them happy, the story would be over and plus, it is WAY too much fun to torture them. :)

To **Revan's Pet Duck:** Nope, no Revan yet, but as I said, she'll probably keep finding ways to make her presence known. Thanks for the review and see? I did post a whole 12 hours earlier than my usual. :)

To **Kuramas Girl Angel:** Thank you again for your sweet review. Mission complained to me that the script for this chap gave her no lines, but she's been nearly alone with that Onasi boy in the Hawk for awhile so she'll probably have much more to say next chap. ;)

To **Lunatic Pandora:** Sorry, no plans for Mandalore making an appearance. I didn't much care for the guy the first time around and plus, I don't see a plausible way for him to come into play here. But thanks for the review and I hope you still enjoy the Mandalore-free fic. :)

To **Dragon Scales 13**: You're suspicious of him?Who, little ole Macen? I can't imagine why...(Macen engages Dragon in staring contest) Thanks so much for the review!

To **Kristin**: Kristin with an "i"! As I said, I'm real sloppy sometimes. You can 'plague' me anytime you want with your wonderful reviews. Yeah, Atton had to jump in the tub. That's just him. I haven't completely tortured him out of a sense of humor...yet. ;) It looks like you're the onlymember of the Intergalatic Macen Vorn Fan Club...But I'm glad. Poor guy...so misunderstood. Maybe. ;)

To **Sith Jedi Master**: Thanks for the review. I don't know who else from Revan's crew I could add even if I wanted to. The droids will eventually get out of Droid Hospital and, like I said, no Mandalore for me, (though I will never say never) Plus, there's too many characters running around as it is! I can't handle it! Ahh! Ok I'm cool now. :)

To **demonessjo**: Ah, no update is complete until I get your review. :) Yes, Cillian is a precious thing, isn't he? When I saw his evil-yet-engagingly-gorgeous performance in Batman, I thought he would be perfect for the twins.(Not one, but **two **Cillian Murphys!) (slaps self in face, gets a grip on self) Ok, so, another one suspicous of Macen. My oh my. And to think, I was going to kill him in Crash but thought I just couldn't do that to Dane on top of everything else. Now I'm so glad I didn't!

To **Luvs Delko Speed**: A new reviewer! Yay! (clashes a cymbal really loudly, irritates the neighbors) Thanks so much for the review and I hope you keep following. :)

Up next: Atton, Macen...this weekend only. At the Ahto City Monster Truck and Durasteel Cage Wrestling Arena...Only 12 credits to watch the grudge match of the millenium, (younglings only 4 credits) Watch as the two go head to head in the bloodiest spectacle this side of Sorroco.You'll pay for the whole seat, but you'll only need the edge!


	25. Macen

**Author's Note:** C_hapters twenty-five and twenty-six have been posted together because one was too long by itself and they needed to go together. Stuff needs to get handled angst-wise and then the plot can move on and we can all get on with our lives. :)Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy. _

_--T_

* * *

**Chapter 25**

**Macen**

_Brother…I can't do it. I can't. She is too powerful. I sensed it from the moment I saw her…even before then, when I landed on Manaan, but I was careless. I cannot do it. Even now I wonder that the amulet will protect me from her. _

Lirik sent these thoughts to Lanik as he marched along the corridors of Ahto City, surrounded by the Exile's crew. There was no risk in contacting Lanik—the Force bond between them was unbreakable and untouchable—but Lirik was having a hard time concentrating. He hoped Lanik heard but was about to give up for the party had arrived at the hotel, but there came a whisper in his mind and Lirik sighed with relief…until he heard his brother's words.

_"You know what the price of failure is, Lirik. You felt the shock more than I and then you warned me. Now it is I who warn you. "_

Lirik scowled. _You haven't seen Darth Tertius. You don't understand—_

_"Brother, I will help you as I can, but I am far away and have my own problems, as I tried to speak to you about earlier. It seems we both have a Jedi bitch to deal with and it would be a pity if neither of us proved up to the task. Use your wits, for you are clever. But do not come to me with what you cannot do. Don't shame me with your fear…and don't let that fear ruin all that we have worked for. Find a weakness in her and expose it. Every Jedi who has not embraced the power of the dark side has one…_

Lanik was older than he by four minutes and it seemed to Lirik that his brother marked those minutes in years. He was about to return a snide remark but the party had approached the room in which the third Jedi resided and so Lirik ceased his communication. He surreptitiously made sure his amulet—the twin of Lanik's—was safely concealed under his rumpled robes and pasted on a deferential smile for the Exile as she activated the door to old man's room.

The meeting was long and serious, and Lirik thought the Exile had seemed torn between remaining on Manaan and journeying to Coruscant immediately. She and the older Jedi—Jolee Bindo by name and an irritating old coot to Lirik's thinking—planned to work together on something, though both were vague as to what that was. At first, Lirik was curious to know if whatever the two were planning had ramifications for his master and the Sith. He nearly snorted aloud, then, to discover it had to do with healing and nothing more. _What a waste of time. Obviously neither of them have learned to appreciate the power and satisfaction that comes with inflicting pain…_ Lirik flinched when he saw Jolee watching him through narrowed eyes and his hand almost went to the amulet to ensure it was still there. Lirik smiled innocently but he found the old man's eyes on him again and again throughout the meeting. _I may have to deal with him, _Lirik couldn't help think. _Perhaps an accident…_

After much blather and talk and planning, Lirik finally heard what he had been waiting to hear—that the Exile would travel to Coruscant in one week's time. This allowed her crew to rest, for her to train the pilot who was—Lirik was slow to discover—a burgeoning Jedi himself, and for the Exile to putter around with the old man. The Twi'lek and the younger Jedi were free to amuse themselves as they liked.

The meeting broke up and Lirik bid a hasty farewell, citing his weariness from the journey to Manaan. No one asked him where he had come from and he didn't offer. _Let them think Coruscant. Their ignorance could become a great weapon. _This was one of many observations Lirik made over the course of what would have otherwise been a tedious affair and he wanted to be alone to ruminate and plot and plan with his brother. He retreated to his room and locked the door behind him. It was his practice to sit cross-legged on the floor, as though meditating, when contacting Lanik over serious matters, but his recent experiences with Darth Tertius made him less desirous of prone positions and so he sat on the bed and closed his eyes.

_The Exile cannot be touched. Master was a fool to think I alone could do the job. Perhaps Darth Tertius, but not me. She is keen and powerful in the Force; she would sense my intentions—amulet or no—instantly. She must fall in the attack on Coruscant if she is to fall at all. She is coming to you in one week's time. _

_"Interesting," _Lanik mused. _"Well, that certainly puts things into motion, now doesn't it? However, while I don't doubt you speak the truth regarding your inability to complete you task, I do hope Master feels the same when you tell _him."

Lirik grew angry. _For your sake as well as mine, I remind you that you'd do better to help me than to threaten, Lanik. If Master does not agree, you will suffer for it as much as I._

"_Perhaps," _Lanik said, his voice sounding cold and hard in Lirik's mind. The part of Lirik that had once been good and had loved his brother stirred like a dead thing brought to life for a moment and then stilled again. Lirik and Lanik were nearly identical down to the last detail, but for one aspect—both brothers would destroy the other if the count required it, and Lanik would not hesitate. Lirik would. And it was that hesitation, a momentary and minute thing that would come and go without notice to anyone else, that was the lone difference in the brothers…and it separated them by light years.

_"I suppose Master might not be too angry at your failure," _Lanik continued._ "It is doubtful Bastila would convene the Council at all if the Exile turned up murdered. That woman is jumpy enough as it is. You may have inadvertently saved yourself, brother, from the count's wrath. Hmm, I will think on it and perhaps craft a report to Master that will save both our skins. A new plan is in order, one that wipes out every last Jedi Master in one fell swoop. All right, what else?"_

Lirik couldn't help but feel thankful that his brother would make the report to Master and not he, but he suppressed it quickly. Lanik would be impossible to live with he suspected Lirik owed him anything.

Lirik continued his report. _The old Jedi is a gray if I ever saw one. I think he suspects me, which I I don't care for, and he has the Exile's ear. He may prove to be quite a nuisance. _

_"Kill him, then, and be done with it."_

Lirik smirked. _Bold words from you, brother. Last time I checked, the body count of Jedis on Coruscant has remained a steady and constant…zero._

Lanik chuckled and Lirik couldn't help but grin. Baiting one another as to who more faithfully nourished and gave succor to the dark side of the Force was a favorite pastime between them.

_"I play a different game than you, brother," _Lanik said. _"But let us not bicker…tell me more."_

_There is a young Jedi…a trifle, really. He is strong in the Force but I sense subtlety is not his strong suit. In wielding the Force, he would shout when a whisper would do. He has not yet mastered the intricacies of his ability. There are strong emotions in him as well—I felt them though he hardly said a word._

_"Can he be turned?"_

Lirik shrugged as though Lanik was sitting beside him instead of half a galaxy away. _Maybe. But he is not who I am interested in. The Exile has a lover…_

_"Do tell."_

Lirik leaned back on his bed and laced his fingers behind his head. _I have thought of a game of my own to play. _

_"I sense relief in you, brother…"_

Lirik smiled at his own cleverness. Lanik had his polish and his intellect—Lirik had his wits._ Yes, brother. I'm smart enough to know that acting against the Exile would be stupid and my life would be forfeit…Of course, I would be sure to expire in the most excruciatingly painful manner so you'd have something to remember me by--_

_"I would expect nothing less,"_ Lanik put in jovially.

_But,_ Lirik continued, a slow, satisfied smile spreading over his lips,_ there is another way to fulfill Master's commands besides whatever plans you will concoct. A way that I think will prove to be much more gratifying… and loads more fun…_

Atton didn't like the meeting that went on for too long. He didn't like that they were going to Coruscant in a week. He didn't like Jolee who wanted to monopolize Dane's time with some project of his own, and he didn't like that Macen was still on the planet somewhere, no doubt readying for his private time with her. Atton was hungry, too, and the small amount of liquor he had consumed on an empty stomach was giving him a headache. His one small comfort was that Lirik Thrakill looked just as miserable as Atton felt and he exchanged commiserating glances with the Jedi more than once. _He is like no Jedi I have ever met,_ Atton thought and when the meeting was over and Lirik muttered an offer to join him sometime in the cantina so that they might be "reunited with the alcohol they had so abruptly abandoned," Atton agreed.

Dane bid farewell to Jolee and then she and Atton returned to their room.

"So…Coruscant, eh?" Atton asked when they were alone again and the door shut. He threw himself on the bed and tucked his hands under his head, staring at the ceiling. "What happens then?"

"Then a Jedi Council convenes, I suppose," Dane replied. "That doesn't interest me as much as speaking with Bastila Shan and Carth Onasi. Between the two of them, I hope to learn as much as I can of Revan so that when I go, I am prepared."

"Uh huh," Atton remarked, trying hard to keep the sarcasm out of his tone and failing miserably. "So, to recap, you have the Council and then you meet with Revan's old pals and then you go, right? How much time we talkin' here, total? Two weeks? Three?"

"Atton—"

"I just want to know how much time we have before—" he bit off his words and sighed heavily. "I want to be prepared too," he finished, his eyes still on the ceiling.

"I don't know how much time," Dane said softly. Atton wasn't looking at her but he could feel her eyes on him. "But I had thought that we had agreed—"

"I didn't agree to anything," Atton said harshly, surprised by the force of his anger.

"I'm not going to have this argument with you again," Dane said quietly. "You promised me you would let me go and now you are breaking that promise."

"There was never a promise to break," Atton spat. He sat up, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. "I try to go along with this fool plan of yours but every time I get two minutes to rub together I think about it and realize just how damn stupid it is, Dane! You're going to listen to that old dead hag? Why? You're going to follow Revan to the middle of nowhere, and for what? Because the Sith are lurking?" She flinched at his words but did not speak and Atton was unable to stop himself anyway. "Guess what, Dane? The Sith are always out there. It makes no damn difference if you go chasing after them or not. And if they are so dangerous then let Revan deal with them. Maybe she already is. Maybe she's already won. Or maybe she's fallen and you're going to walk right into her trap. No matter which way you play those cards, sweets, they're never going to equal twenty."

Dane said nothing for long moments and the expression on her face was unreadable. Atton expected her to rage at him and call him a liar and an ass, but she didn't. He expected she might cry and profess her love and say she was sorry but she had to do what she had to do…but she didn't. Atton's anger fled and he suddenly felt deflated and empty. _This is not how this is supposed to go_, came the thought. He watched her warily, wondering mightily what she was thinking. _Maybe she'll just slap me good and hard and that will be the end of it._

Finally, Dane nodded slowly, as though she had come to some sort of decision.

"What?" Atton demanded. "Say something, will you?"

"All right, Atton," she said, her voice emotionless. "You can go, if you want. Maybe it's better that you do, because we can't keep doing this."

Atton felt as if she had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. "Doing what?" he asked, and cleared his throat that had somehow gone and closed on him.

"I have never once, lied to you," she said, still with that emotionless tone that set Atton's nerves on edge almost more that her words. "From the beginning, since the day we destroyed Malachor V, I have made my intentions clear. I go to Revan, and I go alone, and that's the last time I'm going to say it. If you can't abide that, then I think it best if you leave."

She stood still as a statue, watching him and Atton saw, for the first time since they had defeated Kreia, not Dane standing before him, but General Koren.

Atton tried to look away but she held his gaze with a penetrating stare. "Fine," he said finally, his voice gone dry. "If that's what you want—"

"No, it is not at all what I want," she cut in, "but what I want and what is best, I'm coming to see, are two very distinct notions. You and me, we're riding a turbolift, up and down, up and down. It can't be this way. It was only yesterday you promised to resume your training and today you abandoned it for the cantina."

She was right and so Atton's anger fired up again, fueled by the need to defend himself. "Yeah, I wanted a drink, and you know why? Because the last week and a half I was out of my damned mind with worry for you. You're not the only one who is afraid… You talk all day about not 'dooming' me to some kind of pain and misery if I were to go with you. Well, if you leave to find Revan then that's exactly what you'll do anyway." Atton hated to say it, hated to admit, even to himself that he loved her that much. _When did I turn into such a sap?_ he wondered. _The exact moment you laid eyes on her, came the reply and he angrily brushed it away._ He saw his words had an effect on her, a small softening of her eyes, there and quickly gone again.

"I know and I am sorry for that," she said, "but the only reason I can go ahead is because I know that the path I will walk is much darker than the one you will in my absence."

"Says you," Atton said petulantly. "I'd much rather fight whatever fight there is out there than sit around pining for you like some puppy. You think I'm afraid of the Sith? Is that it? Sweets, I was a Sith, and there isn't anything they can do to me now that I haven't already done." Atton caught his breath as tidal waves of memories and emotions, long repressed, broiled to the surface. He buried them quickly with practiced ease, for he had long ago mastered their concealment. He shot a glance at Dane, wondering if she had felt them in him, but her expression didn't change.

"I have no doubts about your bravery, Atton. Your willingness to do what is needed, selflessly and completely, is one of the reasons I love you as much as I do. And the fact that you have overcome the trials of your past doesn't frighten me, as you might think it would. On the contrary, I love you all the more for it. But what I'm doing is not about you. Why I won't take you with me is not because of a failing or weakness in you. Never doubt that, Atton."

"But you'll still go," Atton said simply. I thought it would be so easy, he thought. Just love her and everything will work itself out…what a crock.

Dane watched him but he still could not read her thoughts by her expression. There was a long silence between them and then she said finally, "I wish that you would pick up your Jedi training again. Perhaps if you felt what I feel in the Force, you would understand. Perhaps the Force could show you what I haven't the words to say." She took a step towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Atton demanded.

"To meet with Macen," she replied, activating the door. "I told him I would."

Atton glowered. "That's just perfect, Dane. And what I am supposed to do?"

She sighed and Atton saw General Koren retreat and his Dane return. She stopped and before she stepped outside of their room, she smiled at him gently, her eyes full of hope and love for him.

"Trust me."

Dane took a long shaking breath as the door closed behind her. She wondered if, when she returned, he would still be there, or if she would come back to an empty room and find Atton gone. The thought made her heart thud dully against her chest but she pushed herself away from the door and headed to the turbolift. _If he does go, then he will be safe. That is all I have ever wanted for him._ But the thought brought little comfort. She had not revealed to him how close she had come to agreeing with him to stay, to not continue on her path, but she knew the joy that she would have with him would be tainted by the emptiness in her. _I have to go seek Revan. That is the only truth I have left, she thought. I have to fill this void, this wound in me, for I feel the echo still…_

Dane was so preoccupied that when stepped out of the turbolift, she crashed right into Macen Vorn who was stepping in.

"Sorry," he said and caught her by the shoulders to steady her. He looked down at her, concern in his blue eyes. "You all right? You don't look so good. I mean, you look fine—really pretty, actually—but also kind of…"

Scared? she thought and almost said aloud, but caught herself and said, "Sick?" instead.

"I was going to say 'pale,'" Macen returned her smile. "You aren't sick, are you?"

"No, I'm…fine. I was coming to find you," she said. "You said you wished to speak to me in private?"

Macen nodded. "You want to get something to drink? I don't know about you, but I am still celebrating our liberation from O'Bannon."

Dane smiled thinly and followed him to the cantina. She had forgotten that Macen had been imprisoned for nearly a year on the barge._ My five days were a nightmare…I can't imagine a year. He has every right to celebrate. _But she declined his offer of a bourbon and water.

"I'm not drinking," she said and ordered from the bartender a juma juice.

"Doesn't that have alcohol in it?" Macen asked her dubiously, gesturing at the orange-ish pink concoction the bartender placed in front of her.

"No, it doesn't. I thought it did once, but…no," Dane replied.

Macen shrugged. "Learn something new every day." He raised his own glass in a toast and Dane clinked hers against it. "To us, for getting off that blasted bastard's boat." He studied her for a moment, his eyes soft and with a hint of sadness in them. He added in a low tone, "To _Atton_, for getting us off that blasted bastard's boat. Heh. Say that five times fast."

Dane looked at him. "You are very kind."

Macen shook his head. "Well, it's true," he said simply. "And I'm not as kind as you think. He got us off that ship but I have to admit there's a part of me…Well, never mind. It's not important." He met her eyes and Dane sensed the emotions behind them. "Where is he?" he asked.

"In the room," Dane replied.

"You aren't worried that he might see us here, together?"

Dane shook her head. "No, I'm not."

Macen bowed his head in defeat, a rueful smile on his face. "You're not worried because you aren't hiding anything from him," he said slowly. "You and I…there is nothing between us, is there?"

Dane nodded gently. "I'm sorry," she said. "But I would not say there is nothing between us. You helped me on that ship more than you realize. It may not seem like much to you and I don't mean to sound patronizing, but I consider you a great friend."

"A friend." He sighed. "Well, so be it. You can't blame me for trying, right?" he said. "And I can't begrudge Atton for…well, for anything really." He turned and looked at her. "I'm real glad he's okay… for your sake."

"Me too," Dane replied and studied her drink.

"Okay, we won't talk about that anymore," Macen said quietly after a moment. "Let's talk about what we're going to do now. It looks as though your plate is full." He pulled out a pack of cigarras. "You don't mind if I smoke, do you?"

"No," Dane said.

"Haven't had one of these in almost a year," Macen said, lighting it and taking a deep drag. "Suppose I should have kept quit of them, but it's just one of the small pleasures I missed." He took another drag and then looked at her. "So, you'll be leaving soon, I guess."

"Yes, we will be leaving here soon to…" Dane floundered. She didn't want to be rude but she didn't want to talk about such a confidential topic in the cantina. There was a good afternoon crowd of merchants, smugglers, and colorful swoop racers milling about and while none of them were paying too much attention to the pair, Dane caught a few staring at her. A Jedi was a rare sight and so she let her words trail.

Macen, apparently, understood for he said in a low voice, "It's all right if you can't talk about all that secret, Jedi stuff." He smiled that quiet smile of his. "I knew, when we were on that barge, that you were important somehow, that you had bigger things to do than that asshole O'Bannon could ever dream up. Pardon my language," he added with a wink.

Dane smiled. "Yes, well, I don't know that I'm important, I just know what I have to do."

"Well, whatever it is, I wish you the best of luck."

"Are you leaving soon?" Dane asked, alarmed. "You sound as if you are saying good bye."

"No, no, I'm not leaving yet," Macen said. "I need credits to buy a ride off this planet and Lirik has offered to sponsor me in a couple of swoop races to earn it. He's a good guy, that Lirik. Funny though, I think, for a Jedi."

Dane nodded. "I think so too." She didn't add that Lirik Thrakill reminded her of a broken jack-in-the-box game she had had once as a child. The hologram of a foppishly dressed man popped out after the music stopped but would not shut off to start the game again. The cackling, bobbing image just hung in the air, cackling and bobbing and giving her shivers until she finally threw it away. She shuddered at the memory now but decided she was being silly. Bastila sent him and Dustil knows his brother. _And besides, I sense nothing untoward about him,_ she reminded herself. She drew her attention back to Macen.

"No, I just wanted to say good luck to you because I don't know that I'm going to get another chance," he was saying.

"Where will you go?" Dane asked, suddenly realizing she knew nothing of Macen; where he was from or if he had family somewhere that was missing him. She suspected his past was not entirely clean, but that he wasn't a criminal either. A smuggler, maybe, or a soldier. But she didn't ask. If he was a soldier, he clearly didn't want to talk about the war, and one didn't just go and ask another straight out if they smuggled contraband for a living.

"I don't know," Macen replied. "You're wondering what I did in my…other life, aren't you?" he asked with a smile.

Dane blushed. "Yes, how did you know?"

Macen leaned forward. "Because you get this look on your face when you want to say something but you're afraid it's gonna sound rude."

"Oh, I do, do I?" Dane said with a laugh.

"Yep. You wore it when you started to tell me about your plans with the other Jedi, and you wore it before that, while you were telling me that I am only to be your friend…like Bao-Dur."

Dane nearly choked on her juma juice. "How did you know—?"

Macen chuckled. "His name? You told me. On the barge. You said, 'if only you knew what a compliment it is that you remind me of Bao-Dur'."

Dane's eyes widened. "You remember that?"

Macen nodded and cast his eyes to his drink. "I remember everything you've ever said to me." There was a pause where Dane didn't quite know what to say. Macen caught her looking at him and he laughed ruefully.

"It's not just things you've said. I have this really, really good memory," he said dryly. "In my pre-O'Bannon days I was a programmer for the Czerka Corporation. I set up and installed a lot of their systems…until they landed on Kashyyyk and wanted me to set up the programs that would track their 'sales' and profits. Then I quit. Of course, Czerka didn't like that at all—I didn't realize an entire corporation could get offended, but they did. They made it very difficult for me to find other work. So, I wound up working for the Exchange." Macen glanced at her quickly. "As a treasurer, of sorts."

Dane blushed, thinking of how she had underestimated him so terribly. "That's not at all…"

"You thought I was a smuggler, right?" Macen laughed.

"Or maybe a soldier," Dane admitted.

"I was in the war," Macen said, stubbing out his cigarra, "but not as a soldier. Again, I worked in setting up computer systems—for the fleet, for the bases. After the war came Czerka, and after Czerka…" He shook his head ruefully. "The only work I could find was for the Exchange. Turns out that crimelords think it a very great talent to be able to remember every single item on a manifest, how much the items cost, and who paid what and when. I went from refusing to count profits on Wookie slaving to willingly counting profits on spice smuggling and various other things I'd rather not relay, for a crime boss who also happened to be an enemy of Raff O'Bannon." Macen shrugged. "You know the rest."

"Where did you learn how to fight?" Dane asked, remembering that it was his skill in combat that kept him alive on O'Bannon's barge and nothing else.

"Even techs have to go through basic," Macen said. "Turned out, I remembered a lot of it."

Dane smiled. "That is quite a talent you have."

Macen shrugged again and lit another cigarra. "I suppose. It just means that every second I was on that barge is forever stuck in my brain…as is every conversation you and I ever had." He looked at her then, and Dane couldn't help but look away.

"Sorry," Macen said. "I should lay off the bourbon. It's making me honest."

"Were you ever married?" Dane asked quietly. "I don't mean to pry—"

Macen laughed. "I know you don't, you're wearing that face again. Hey, it's all right," he said, seeing her discomfort. "No, I haven't married. Almost. Twice. But…" he smiled mischievously, "it's hard for a woman to win a fight when you remember every single word she's ever said."

Dane punched Macen in the arm, laughing. "Is that so?"

He grinned. "Yeah, apparently women like to be right all the time and you know, that was the one thing I just couldn't remember."

Dane laughed harder. "Aren't you hilarious," she said, shaking her head at him.

"Hey," he said, holding his hands out. "You want another juma juice or have you reached your limit?"

Dane shook her head. Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered that she may or may not have an empty room to return to. The levity she had felt slipped away. "I should go," she said.

Macen only nodded.

"Will I see you again before you leave?"

He glanced up. "You might. It's likely you'll jump off this planet before me. I still have some money to earn."

"Macen, I have credits—"

"I'm not taking any money from you, Dane," he said sternly. "Thanks, but no. You've done enough for me that I can't repay. I'd rather not start asking for handouts too."

"Macen, you and I are square," Dane said, catching his gaze and holding it. "I would not have survived O'Bannon if it wasn't for you."

"That's not true," Macen said and smiled at her. He raised a hand, as though he was going to touch her face, but dropped it again abruptly when he realized what he was doing. "You're a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for," he said quickly, his eyes on his drink. "Now, go on and get back to Atton before he has a tantrum. I don't even mean that in a bad way. Hell, if you were mine, I wouldn't let you out of my sight."

Dane bowed her head, again at a loss for words.

"There I go again, being honest," Macen said. "Go on, Dane. Go. And take care of yourself."

"I'll be here another week," Dane protested. "This probably isn't going to be the last time we speak."

"No," Macen said, meeting her eyes. "But it probably should be, for my sake at least."

Dane nodded. He is a good man. In another time, another place, I could have loved him. It would have been so easy. She wanted to embrace him or kiss him on the cheek but she knew that wouldn't be fair. Instead, she offered her hand and he shook it.

"Good bye, Macen," she said. "I'll see you later," she insisted.

"'Bye, Dane," he said.

Dane turned and left, surprised that hot tears were springing to her eyes. _This is silly, I'll see him again,_ she thought. _But not like this, came another thought. Things are going to get complicated and rushed and…_ She turned around and saw Macen watching her go. He raised a hand to her and suddenly she was back on the barge, being dragged away by O'Bannon's men, and looking back and seeing him, in his cell, raising his hand to her…

Dane dashed back into the bar and threw her arms around Macen's neck. "Thank you, my friend," she said, her face buried against his shoulder. She felt his arms go around her and he held her tight.

"You're welcome, Dane," he whispered. After a few moments he pulled her to arm's length and they both looked at each other's forlorn expressions and laughed. "It's only the bourbon, I swear," he said.

Dane smiled through her tears. "I won't forget you, Macen."

He returned her smile and then he did touch his fingers to her cheek. "I can live with that."

Lirik Thrakill watched as Macen touched Dane's face and said something to her the Sith couldn't hear. Dane then reluctantly left the cantina, leaving Macen alone with his bourbon and cigarras. Lirik smiled to himself. He had overheard most of their conversation from his position at a table behind them, huddled deep in an old cowled robe instead of his Jedi disguise.

"I have a pretty good memory too," Lirik murmured to himself, "and I think, with the proper embellishments, I can repeat their conversation in its entirety." A slow smile spread over Lirik's face and he slipped out of the cantina, quite pleased with himself. Causing trouble between lovers, Lirik was hardly at his evil best…_But great emotions pave dark paths_, he thought with satisfaction. Lirik whistled brightly as he made his way through Ahto City and back towards his hotel room.

He passed Dane and Atton's room on the way to his own. Lirik paused outside the door, grinning wickedly.

_Let us see, Atton Rand, how deep your emotions run, and just how far you can fall…_


	26. Atton

**Chapter 26**

**Atton **

Dane's heart was thumping so loudly and her gaze distracted as she approached her room that she didn't see Mission until she was almost on top of her. The Twi'lek was sitting against the door, her knees pulled up to her chin and her face buried in her arms.

"Mission?" Dane swiftly knelt beside her. "What is it? Are you hurt?"

Mission raised her tear-streaked face and nodded. "No, not like that," she said miserably. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I really wanted to…talk to you. And also," her tears started flowing again, "I have no other place to go." She cried in earnest and Dane was starting to get alarmed.

Dane reached out with the Force but found no injury to the Twi'lek. "Mission, what happened? Where's Dustil?"

At the mention of the young Jedi's name, Mission sobbed harder.

"Mission, look at me," Dane said, tilting the young woman's face up. "Is he all right?"

"Yeah, he's all right," Mission said bitterly. "He's a worthless son of a schutta, but he's not hurt if that's what you mean."

Understanding dawned on Dane and she smiled gently. "Come on," she said, pulling Mission to her feet. "Let's go somewhere and talk." She cleared her throat and said slowly, "Did you…knock on our door?"

Mission nodded, wiping her hands over her eyes. "Yes, but there was no answer. I didn't know what to do, so I just sat here…"

Dane felt as though the blood in her veins had turned to ice, but she managed to keep her face placid. _The girl needs you now. Your own problems can wait._ She managed to smile at Mission and put her arm around her.

"It's all right. Let's find a quiet place."

"Can't we go in your room?" Mission asked, puzzled.

Dane shook her head. _Absolutely not. I can't sit in there, with the rumpled sheets and the scent of him lingering… I can't._ Aloud she said, "Why don't we get some air?"

Mission nodded, obviously not truly caring one way or another and Dane steered her down the hall, away from her room.

They left the hotel and found a secluded bench outside that offered a spectacular view of the late afternoon sun shining over the endless blue of Manaan's oceans. A cool breeze blew over them, drying Mission's tears.

"I'm sorry to bother you," Mission said. "I know you're busy…"

Dane looked at her. "Stop saying that. You're not bothering me. Atton—" Her throat tightened and she swallowed. "Atton received a lot of credit for my rescue, but I know that he had help from you. Any time you need me to, I'll listen. It's the least I can do."

Mission seemed mollified by Dane's words. She heaved a tremendous sigh and shook her head. "It's my fault, really. I should have known better than to fall for a Jedi. Them and their stupid Code," she muttered almost to herself and then realized what she had said. She turned to Dane. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it like that!"

"It's all right," Dane said. "Tell me what happened."

"It's embarrassing, really," Mission hesitated. Dane raised an eyebrow at her and she sighed again.

"Okay. Last night, Dustil and I were playing Pazaak and I was winning," she began, her eyes on the rolling waves of the ocean. "Big Z was there for a little while but he went to bed and Dustil and I just kept playing and playing. After awhile, I got thirsty and stood up to go to the hold to see if there was a canteen, or something. Dustil got up at the same time, saying he would get it for me, and we sort of…" Mission blushed to the roots of her lekku. She took a deep breath and said, "We sort of bumped into each other and then next thing I know, he was…kissing me." She glanced at Dane. "We kissed a lot. He practically attacked me—"

Dane glanced sharply at Mission and the Twi'lek shook her head. "No, not…in a bad way. I attacked him as much as he did me," she said in a rush and her eyes filled with tears. "It was wonderful, you know? I really…" Mission's tears were flowing now and her breath hitched with sobs. "I really like him a lot. Love him, maybe," she said and then couldn't continue.

"That's not a bad thing," Dane said softly.

"No, that part wasn't bad," Mission said, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. "The bad part was when he suddenly stopped and jumped off me like I had shocked him, or something." Dane watched as anger burned away the Twi'lek's tears. "He started apologizing like a madman and saying how he shouldn't have done that, and how he's a Jedi and he really shouldn't give in to his emotions and a bunch of other utter poo doo!" Mission spat. She looked around at Dane. "I mean, don't start something if you can't finish it, right? It's not fair."

Dane said nothing but listened as Mission took several more steadying breaths before continuing. "Anyway, I told him I didn't understand what was wrong. I was in shock, you know? And then he says something about how he is beholden to certain beliefs and I got really mad. I don't know what happened to me, but I just started shouting at him, telling him he was a bastard and…and a bunch of not-so-nice things about the Code," she said, glancing at Dane. "But you know what the funny part was? The whole time I'm shouting at him, I was thinking how I just wanted to kiss him again. Isn't that strange? Maybe I'm just crazy." She heaved a resigned sigh and looked down at her hands.

"You're not crazy," Dane said. "What happened next?"

Mission rolled her eyes. "He just kept apologizing but I wouldn't stop shouting and so finally he got mad. He started shouting too, saying I didn't understand, and then he left."

Dane blinked. "He left?"

Mission nodded, her tears coming again. "He said it would be better if he went to Coruscant to help Carth and Bastila prepare for your big meeting and that he would be of more use there and he just left. In the middle of the night!" The Twi'lek buried her face in her hands and sobbed mightily, her slender shoulders shaking with grief.

Dane patted her awkwardly as she couldn't help wonder if Dustil's leaving affected anything on Manaan._ I suppose not. He didn't really have anything to do here._ A sudden thought occurred to Dane and she turned to Mission. "He didn't take the Hawk, did he? I'm sorry, but I must know."

Mission shook her head. "No, he found some other ride, I guess. How, I don't know." She looked up at Dane. "He told me to tell you that he was sorry for leaving without a proper goodbye but that since Lirik is here, you should be all right," she muttered. "He made me promise to tell you that."

Dane smiled gently. "Thank you for doing so. I—"

"I don't want to go to Coruscant with you!" Mission blurted suddenly. "I don't want to see him and you don't need me anymore anyway…"

Dane pursed her lips. "That's not true, I do need you, but if you wish to go back to Nar Shaddaa, I will arrange if for you."

"Why? You have Jolee and that Lirik and Atton, and Bastila obviously wants to meet with you. You don't need me to get you in to see her. Or to see Carth."

"I need you, Mission, because you are right. I do have…those others," she said, wondering with a pang if she still had Atton, "and they are all Jedi. You are not."

Mission raised an eyebrow ridge. "And that's a good thing?"

Dane laughed. "Of course it is. You see things as they are, without the Force, without Jedi training or codes. Your perspective is that of nearly every other person in this galaxy."

"I don't understand."

Dane sighed. She quickly assessed how much she was going to tell the Twi'lek._ Enough to hopefully make her see. Anything more, I haven't the strength for._

"Years ago, during the Mandalorian wars, the Jedi Council made a terrible mistake. They did not heed the cries for help from the people who were losing their lives to that enemy and were dying by the scores. They kept to their ways and to their traditions, and while I know they did not intend to cause harm, terrible harm came anyway. It is possible to do wrong, not only with action, but also by taking none, I think. I became angry…and I wasn't alone. Because that Council was unwilling to lend its aid, many Jedi left to fight, myself included."

Mission was listening intently, her tears drying on her cheeks. "Is that why Dustil called you 'the Exile?' I heard him talk to Juhani on the communications console to tell her he had found you."

Dane nodded. "It is a long story, one I do not have the energy to relate now, but know this, Mission. I am about to join what is to become the new Jedi Council, and while I have faith that we can learn from the mistakes of the past, it is vital that we never lose site of our true purpose as Jedi—to protect and defend the galaxy from injustice and evil. I am unwilling to join a Council that does not heed and respect the voices of non-Jedi. I need your voice, Mission. From the beginning, I wish for things to be different. If it seems like a small thing, therein lies the danger. Complacency, more so than anything else will be our downfall and I won't sacrifice another life to it."

"Taris," Mission whispered.

Dane looked at her. "What did you say?"

The Twi'lek looked up at her. "I lost Taris, my home, to the Sith. Malak. He destroyed it, looking for Bastila. It wasn't the Jedis' fault; that's not what I'm saying. But I do know what it is to feel helpless and weak. I know how I felt a lot of the times, traveling around with Arax—Revan—like things were happening all around me and I couldn't really do much but try to help. I was a kid then, but still." She smiled. "I would like to have a voice, I guess, if you think it will matter."

Dane nodded seriously. "It does matter." She had heard of the destruction of Taris while in exile, but the memory of that knowledge was like a shadowy dream and she had not considered it at length. Now, looking at Mission, she imagined the suffering of those people as the planet succumbed to oblivion. _Like Malachor V_, she thought bitterly. _This girl does not feel the wounds in the Force caused by such loss of life, but she carries that burden in her own way. There has to be an end._ Dane swallowed hard and turned to Mission who was looking at her, waiting.

"There is a reason why we found you—or you found us. The entirety of it is not clear yet, but I know that having you with us as the new Council begins is important. And besides," she added, feigning a levity she hadn't quite found yet, "you are my friend and I would miss you if you left."

Mission smiled at this. "All right," she said softly. "I'll come with you. If only for the chance to slug Dustil…"

Dane gave the girl a quick hug and they rose to go.

"Wait, I can't go back to the Hawk," Mission said, gripping Dane's arm. "Please. If there is aroom at the hotel…?"

Dane regarded her quizzically. "I thought you didn't want to stay there because of Dustil."

"No," Mission said. "I don't want to stay there because…it is haunted."

"Haunted?"

Mission nodded vigorously. "After Dustil left I didn't quite know what to do and so I wanderedaround a bit and when I was in the garage, I saw something. Actually not something, but someone."

Dane shivered involuntarily, but not from fear. "What did this 'someone' look like?" she asked slowly.

Mission's eyes widened. "I didn't get a very good look and it wasn't more than a shadow, really. A shadow and a greenish-blue glow. It was there, in the corner of my eye and when I turned, it was gone. So I thought I was just imagining it, you know? The Hawk has lots of shadows. But there was this smell…like engine grease, or something, that was really strong, hanging in the air that wasn't there before." Mission shivered.

Dane lost her breath and sank back down on the bench. _My friend…_

"What is it?" Mission demanded, alarmed. "Why…" she cocked her head at Dane. "Why are you crying?"

Dane brushed a hand over her eyes and smiled. "You have nothing to be afraid of," she told Mission. "In fact, I wouldn't mind spending a night or two in the _Hawk_, myself. I think it would do me good."

"What is it?" Mission asked cautiously.

"A friend of mine. We…lost him shortly before we came to Nar Shaddaa."

Mission's eyes softened but there was fear in them still. "So, it—he's real? I wasn't imagining it?"

Dane shook her head. "I don't think so. He was always in the garage, repairing or inventingsomething." Dane smiled to herself, thinking fond thoughts of her friend. She glanced up after a moment and laughed aloud at the unsettled expression on Mission's face. "You have nothing to fear from Bao-Dur. In fact, you don't know how happy I am to know that he is with us still." She didn't add that she already knew first-hand that Bao-Dur, for whatever reason, and by whatever means, had been with her for awhile—she didn't think the Twi'lek needed to have her nerves shaken any further. _He takes a corporeal form as well_, she pondered. _Perhaps I should ask Jolee about this._

"So, do you still not wish to sleep in the _Hawk_?" she asked Mission, getting to her feet again.

The Twi'lek shook her head. "No offense, but even if he is your friend…it's still creepy."

Dane laughed. "Well, what about Zaalbar? You're not just going to leave him alone, are you?" she teased.

Mission snorted indelicately. "I told Zaalbar about it and he didn't care at all. He said I was imagining things." She paused, a sudden thought arresting her. "Y-your friend, he won't hurt Big Z will he?"

"Never," Dane promised. This seemed to mollify the Twi'lek and the pair continued back to the hotel. _I hope there is room for her, but if Atton is gone, she can stay with me_. The thought hung like a lead weight in her mind and occupied her thoughts so that when Mission said, "Hi, Atton," Dane nearly jumped out of her skin.

He appeared out of the shadows of twilight, walking out of the Ahto settlement as Mission and Dane were walking in.

"Hey, Mission," he said to the Twi'lek. He looked to Dane. "Hiya, sweets."

"Hi," Dane said, her voice hardly a whisper. So intent on him standing there, she did not see Mission's eyes go between the two of them, a knowing look on her face.

"Well, I think I'll be brave and head back to the _Hawk_," she said. "Zaalbar shouldn't be alone and I should remember I've faced worse than a shadow that smells like gasoline. 'Bye, you two," she said. "And thanks, Dane."

She slipped away, neither Dane nor Atton noticing her departure.

"I thought you had left," Dane began. "Or maybe…you're leaving now?" She noticed he wasn't carrying a bag, but stood with one hand shielding himself from the setting sun, a shadow of his crooked smile on his features. His gray-green eyes darkened at her words.

"You want me to?" he asked.

"No."

"Me neither. I was just out, getting some air."

There was a silence between them. Dane turned her gaze to the endless oceans before them. "The sunset is beautiful here. Will you come watch it with me?"

"Yeah, sure," he said and the two of them returned to the bench Dane and Mission had occupied before. They sat side by side, neither saying anything, watching as the setting sun cast flaxen embers over the gently lapping waves, turning the water into molten gold. The sky was streaked with purple and orange and the first of a thousand stars were beginning to emerge high above them.

Dane watched Atton watching the water. _Force help me, I love him so. I will make him see… _"Look out there, Atton. See how beautiful the ocean waters look as the sun sets behind them?"

Atton nodded. "Yeah, it's nice," he muttered.

"It is tranquil and lovely, isn't it? One would think you could submerge yourself in those cool waters and float on the gentle tides, always at peace and always safe." Dane looked at him. "But you cannot. The Selkath speak of terrible sharks that lurk in the waters, and of currents that drag and pull one down into the murky depths that are belied by the beauty of the surface."

"Why are you telling me this?" Atton asked, his voice low.

"Because when I look up at the sky at night and see the trillions of stars glittering like crystals against the black velvet, it is the same as when I look at Manaan's waters. I see a hidden threat lurking in the beauty and quiet of space and I know that if I were to pretend it isn't there, then the sharks will come."

Atton's hard demeanor softened and he touched her cheek. "I won't let them touch you, babe," he said gruffly. "I won't."

Dane smiled and pressed her cheek into his hand. "I know you wouldn't, Atton, and I love you for it. I do. But it is not just me they will come for. You wouldn't be safe…none of us would. I have to dive down into blackness and find the Sith, drive them from their hiding places, for I can feel them in the shadows, Atton. I can feel that something is wrong and I know it is what Revan felt, only Revan is so much stronger than I. She felt it long ago…"

Atton didn't say anything, but looked out over the water. There was a long silence and Dane thought he was angry again but then he said, "I may be a selfish ass but I'd rather have you here and take my chances with the Sith later." He turned and looked down at her. "Just answer one question, will you? Why does it have to be you?"

Dane tore her gaze away from his gray-green eyes, turning them again to the ocean. "Because there is another reason, one that is separate from the threat I speak of. Because I am still broken inside," she said simply. "Malachor V…during the war…No," she said, shaking her head. "That is not the way. Not with words. Take my hands, Atton, and I will show you as I should have done a long time ago."

Atton appeared dubious, but he placed his hands in her own.

"Close your eyes," Dane whispered, and Atton did…

_The sounds, the horrible screams of the dying rang out everywhere. Smoke from a thousand unknown sources clouded the air so that it was difficult to see—difficult to breathe. General Koren stumbled over the rocky wastes of the planet, stumbled over the bodies of the dead. Too many wore the Republic colors and many more were falling all around her as the Mandalorians advanced. Up ahead, through the haze and smoke and screams that colored the air as much as anything else, the General saw the shuttle._

_It was badly scorched with blaster burns but it was rising slowly into the air—limping, really—like a bird with a broken wing attempting to flee its attacker. The General quickened her pace as much as the wound in her thigh would allow, the fear that it would rise without her lending her new strength. She thought, for a panic-stricken moment, that she was too late. But as the shuttle turned, she saw that the hatch was down and slowly rising. A figure shadowed the ramp, his glowing arm casting enough light to lend his form shape. Bao-Dur, General Koren thought. He will see me…She ran faster, the red-hot bolts from the Mandalorians streaking past her. They will strike me down…it's too late. But as she neared, she saw that the Zabrak had spotted her. Closer now, she watched him as he turned his head to the interior of the shuttle, heard his muffled shout, and then the shuttle ceased its slow, wounded rise._

_General Koren, limping badly, made it to the ramp and the Zabrak offered her his artificial arm, the one he had built himself. She gratefully gripped his hand and gasped as he hauled her aboard the shuttle with surprising strength._

_The General collapsed inside the shuttle and listened as the ramp behind her closed. She listened, too, as the shouts and curses of the Mandalorians drew closer… and then were silenced by the closing of the ramp and by the engines of the shuttle as it lifted off the surface of Malachor V._

_"You all right, General?" the Zabrak asked._

_She nodded. Bao-Dur. He was the tech that had lost his arm on Malachor V only weeks before and had been given up for dead by the medic, and nearly everyone else in her regiment. But he had looked up at her, drunk with blood loss and scared, and had promised her he would not abandon her yet. She had seen then, in his eyes as they met hers, his loyalty, his respect for her. "The generator isn't finished yet," he had begged. "Please…"_

_General Koren had ordered the med droid to do what it could for him—not because of what Bao-Dur had built for her, but because of what he was to her. In the end, the droid had taken his arm and Bao-Dur seemed to fade. But she stayed with him—unseemly as it was for a Republic General to spend her energies and time on a tech, and he survived._

_Now, lying on the floor of the transport shuttle, she thought that everything had come full circle._

_"Thank you, Bao-Dur," she said, and managed to smile through her pain._

_"Rest now, General," he replied in his soft voice. "Rest and I will watch over you."_

_General Koren nodded weakly and gratefully closed her eyes and sank into oblivion._

_"General?" Bao-Dur stepped beside her on the deck of the Firestar, her once mighty and now wounded starship._

_General Koren turned her gaze from the viewport where Malachor V hovered, its surface roiling with the storms of war. She looked at the Zabrak._

_"It is ready," he said._

_The General nodded. "There are still many Republic soldiers down there," she stated._

_"I wait only your command, General. If you wish me to abort—"_

_"No," she replied curtly, her lips pressed together in a thin line. "There must be an end."_

_Bao-Dur nodded and pulled from his jacket a small black box. His hands trembled._

_"It seems like such a small thing," the General commented, her own voice shivering. She met Bao-Dur's eyes. "Lieutenant," she said to him, for his loyalty had been rewarded, "you may proceed."_

_Bao-Dur nodded once and quickly, as though before he could change his mind, he flipped a safety catch off of a keypad and touched a series of numbers. He looked up at her. "It is done."_

_The General turned her head to look at Malachor V, she opened her mouth to speak…but suddenly all she knew was pain._

_It was not the pain of injury for such corporeal sensations-- even the most horrible she had suffered in battle—paled in comparison to the agony that tore through her soul, as a moon pales against a mighty sun. She gasped and then every fiber in her being felt as though it were being stretched taut and that she would break apart from the inside out. She fell to her knees, and the Zabrak rushed to her, held her, but she did not feel his touch. She felt nothing but the agony…_

_Thousands of voices screamed in a cacophony of anguish, anger, and fear, their hollow wails reverberating in her mind, in her very spirit. Thousands of voices, each one distinct in their pain even as they blended together…Thousands of souls cried out hopelessly as they simply melted away into nothingness._

_The General felt the Force, like a tremendous ribbon of energy, rise up and writhe, as though in terrible anger. It seemed to coalesce around her and where it touched her, it shriveled and blackened, and hung heavy over her like a shroud. She tried to scream, tried to defend herself from the blackness that settled inside her, throbbing like a horrible wound, but she was helpless against it. She watched from somewhere—not her own eyes, but from some place far removed from the flesh—as the Force, or what her tortured mind had envisioned was the Force, retreated. It left the stain of its wound in her like a hole that would not be filled, or a scream that would never grow hoarse, reverberating throughout time like a hollow echo…_

_General Koren opened her eyes and stared frantically up at the face of Bao-Dur staring down at her, his own a twisted mask of fear and horror. Her breath came in small hitches and gasps. She grabbed his arms, digging her nails into his flesh._

_"What…have I done?" she gasped. "What have I done?"_

Atton trembled in her grasp, his hands in hers, gripping tightly. He opened his eyes and stared at her, his eyes wide with awe. "I…never knew. The wound…?"

Dane nodded. "It lives in me still. It has not healed, not in all those years." She released his hands and turned her gaze to the sea. It had been hard showing him and she regretted the pain it caused him but he had to know. "I have learned to live with it, in a matter of speaking, but it is there."

"How?" Atton asked incredulously.

She turned her eyes to him. "By trying, every day, to make things right again, no matter how small the act. Atton, this wound in the Force must be healed and in all this time, after all that we have done, I have never felt that it could be healed until Kreia said to find Revan. I couldn't dare to hope that she was telling the truth, not completely. It was too much and she had lied too many times. But the truth of it, the absolute hope of it has never left me. That has to mean something, hasn't it? Or else I don't know what there is left for me to do."

Dane sighed and watched the last rays of the sun slip beneath the water, turning the sky into shades of blue and violet. Atton stirred beside her and she felt his hand, shaking slightly, stroke her hair in that familiar gesture she had come to love. She turned to him and her eyes filled with swift tears for the sight of him, for the way he was looking at her.

"Dane," he whispered, drawing closer to her.

She held her breath, anticipating a kiss or a kind word. Instead he said, "I understand," and with those words, the dam broke within in her.

She took a ragged breath that was half laugh and half sob. "Thank you," she whispered, her joy nearly overwhelming her. He pulled her close to him and held her tight against his chest, but she wanted to look at him, to touch his face and so she pressed her forehead to his, her hands around his strong jaw.

"I love you," she whispered, her lips brushing against his.

He pulled away then, his own hands on her face. "Gods, babe, I love you," he returned and then kissed her hard.

He crushed his lips to hers and she did not flinch at his passion, but answered it with her own. His hands never left her face, but cupped her chin as he kissed her as though he was drinking her in. Her own hands wound into his silken hair, pulling gently, and she let out a tiny moan of contentment for kissing him like this was as breathing.

Atton broke away after long moments, breathing hard and trembling slightly.

"I can feel…you. I feel your thoughts…" he said, hoarsely. "Why…?"

"We are bonded, Atton," Dane whispered. "You and I, we are bonded through the Force. It was inevitable after I showed you what I did…"

He shook his head in amazement but said nothing more about their bond—there was nothing more to be said.

"Come on." He rose to his feet and pulling her to stand beside him. "Let's go inside."

Dane took a steadying breath and walked with him to the hotel, to their room where he seized her again and kissed her and her touched her a thousand times until she became lost in him and he in her.

When sleep came, so did their dreams, and in them, they were together still.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Sorry, the grudge match that was scheduled to take place has been postponed due to weather on Manaan. Certain FLUFFY clouds rolled in, meaning a storm is brewing. We will keep you posted.

**Notes to Reviewers:**

To** LuvsDelkoSpeed:** Glad you liked Chaps 9 and 10. ;) Yeah, I'm a huge sap. LOL, "Satan's Play Place." sigh I miss Raff. Thanks for the review and I'm real glad it is keeping you engaged.

To **qt3.1459**: You hit it right on the head. Atton doens't have too much logical thinking going on when it comes to other men and his gal. Right on. I like how you think...;)

To **Miss Becky:** Thank you so much again for the beta.My nerveswere_taught_ withworry that you wouldn't like it. ;) So, the kids cleared the air a bit which should last all of one chapter. But the same ole fight they've been having is OVER. Now they can move on to bigger and better problems. Alone time...yes, that would be nice for them. I'm sure they'll squeeze some in, but will it be _quality _time? The Force works in mysterious ways, especially its dark side...;) Love ya.

To **Lunatic Pandora**: Methinks Dane may loppeth off Lirik's head forthwith...or not. Who knows, I just work here. Thanks for the review!

To **Amoinete**: Don't hate the twins! Or do...give in to your hate...;) sigh I still miss Raff. Thanks for taking the time to review. Always appreciated.

To** SithJediMaster**: Council convenes soon after a rather unfortunate delay. :) Thanks for the review!

To **Revan's Pet Duck:** Yeah, poor Carth. He's still hurting. But, what can you do? Maybe I'll have Revan pop in and give him a quickie. (Did I just say that out loud?)

To** Kuramas Girl Angel:** Mission has her own problems now, as you can see, and her story is far from over yet. Don't change your name. Yours is original. Mission's been around the block, you know?

To **Kristin**: She of the in-depth, critical review. Love it. Need it. Yeah, I can't wait to get rolling on Darth T. They haven't even really begun yet. The twins are little puppets in comparison. As for Bastila and the two ways you brought up she may be seduced, I don't think it will be one or the other but a combination of the two. She's a womanbut she's also a Jedi, and she's also really smart (most of the time) and a much harder nut to crack than Lanik thinks. My goal, whatever I do, is to try to avoid cliche. I don't always succeed but that's my intention and I'm real glad I have you to keep me honest. As for Dane, she doesn't have an awareness/attention on the Macen-Atton thing because in her mind, it is very clear who means what to her. She's smart but I didn't say she was worldly. :)

To **demonessjo:**No, swoon away at the twins. I do. They're precious! Yeah, Lanik is slightly more subtle than his bro...and more evil too. Thanks for the kind words about wrangling all these characters. This chap was pretty much about getting stuff out of the way so that little things like "plot" and "action" can proceed. Hopefully what Dane is doing is better explained now and she's not so frustrating. But I'm really trying to NOT let her be weak or compromise herself for the love of Atton. She's got her story and she's sticking to it. Atton is lovable and wonderful but I think it would make for very boring reading if she threw in the towel because he didn't likesomething. :)

To **gekkeiju**: Carth is suffering...and will continue to suffer because I am a very bad person. ;) Regarding Macen, my attorneys have advised me to remain silent on the issue pending further chapters. ;) Thanks for the review, as always, much appreciated.

To **SwordFreak92**: Thanks for the compliment. I'll call you by your new name since you did change it for a reason, I'm sure. :)

To **DragonScales13**: Macen smirks at Dragon witha 'How you like me now?' glint in his eye. Hee hee. But, the story is far from over and there is something to be said for instincts. attorneys slap hand over Trillian's mouth I mean, or is there...? tries to look shifty Ok, I've fooled around long enough. Shoot, I don't even know what's going tohappen, I'm just glad you're reading it. Thank you for the review.

Up next...Hell if I know. If I write what I think is up next, some character will come along and screw it all up, so...we'll see. Thanks to you all!


	27. Lirik's Lesson: Step One

_**Author's Note:** I don't have a clue what kolto looks like beyond the murky images of Kotor I, despite the research I did. So if any of the following is wrong, my apologies._

**

* * *

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**Chapter 27 **

**Lirik's Lesson, Step One**

_"It is a subtle, fine art—turning someone to the dark side, an art that has many applications and multiple methodologies. Some methods, as you may have heard of, or experienced yourself, are heavy-handed and violent. I will never dismiss another's processes—turning another, making them see the glory and truth of the dark side, is a valuable and noble thing and I would be remiss in criticizing the manner in which anyone attempted it. However, in my long and fruitful life serving the power of the Force—its true power—I have formulated what I think is a viable, simple, and foolproof technique that succeeds where other, more base attempts, fail. It is a technique in three parts that, once applied in repeating cycles, yields wondrous results._

" _The first step I call simply, 'Pain.'_

" _Pain, as I'm sure you have discovered, is not only a useful tool for the causation of suffering, for torture so that information is relayed, for punishment when punishment is owed. It is also much more than that. Pain, when correctly and repeatedly applied, has the tendency towards forcing its recipient down into himself or herself, away from the matters of the spirit where their righteousness lies, and roots them securely to all matters physical. A person in tremendous pain ceases to consider logical matters, their rationale flees, and good intentions are ignored. Why? Because the person wishes only for the pain to stop. They care less about lofty matters of 'right' and 'wrong' and become wholly concentrated on what is occurring to their corporeal self. This removal, this distancing of the target from more spiritual affairs is the first step towards breaking them. It is why torture, when correctly applied, results in the desired information, it is why punishment instills the correct behavior, and it is why suffering persons are more easily persuaded, through desperation, to do one's bidding…because they no longer care about anything but the cessation of pain._

_"Once the pain relents—and you must, eventually, release the target lest they go mad and your plan becomes forfeit— there comes a blissful time in which the target is grateful, is weakened, and is, with all their might, concentrating their energies into preventing its return… That is the time to strike. How you strike your target at this point is entirely up to you and should be based on the circumstances: what you know of your intended target, and of course, your own cleverness and ingenuity and imagination…_

Lirik lay on his bed, the morning sun filtering in weak, watery shafts, through his window. The words of his old Sith master fresh in his mind. He glanced out of that window and his smile grew broader as he could see thick, dark clouds gathering on the horizon. _A storm is coming,_ he thought and chuckled to himself. _Oh yes, a storm _is_ coming, but the schools shall remain open. _Lirik guffawed louder at his joke, the thin, hollow sound reverberating around his small room. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, ran a hand through his rumpled hair and yawned.

"All right, Atton," he said to himself, "it is time for Lesson One."

* * *

Dane awoke to find Atton gone. She laid her hand on the place where he had slept and found it still warm. She did not panic or worry or doubt…after last night she knew she wouldn't have to again. Instead, she pulled his pillow to her and squeezed it, nestling her face in the fabric that smelled sweetly of him. _Where are you, love? _she asked, trying out the strength of their newly forged Force bond. It was tenuous, she could tell, but his answer came to her, weak and frail and seeming as though he was far away, when he was not.

_…Hey…not bad, this Force bond…but not so good for sleeping…you're hungry…_

Dane laughed in a way that could only be described as a giggle and she blushed though no one had heard it. It was true, she had eaten little since the demise of O'Bannon's barge and Dane didn't doubt poor Atton had been awoken, through their bond, with her suddenly ravenous hunger. She sighed contentedly and waited for him to return.

Atton did return ten minutes later bearing a small plasteel container and two mugs of steaming caffa. "Hiya, sweets," he said, slipping inside and activating the door behind him. Dane sighed again at the sight of him.

His hair was rumpled, as was his white shirt that he hadn't bothered tucking into his pants. A wide, silly grin was plastered to his face and his gray-green eyes were alight, if sleepy-looking. He looked, Dane thought, happy.

Atton strode over to her and kissed her lingeringly before plopping himself on the floor and then he began to set up their breakfast. "That crank of a manager was right, they turned an old Sith base into a restaurant—at least part of it, anyway." He handed Dane, still in bed, one of the mugs of caffa.

"I didn't know what you'd like and it wasn't like there was much in the way of options anyway, but I tried to get the most ordinary-looking stuff they had." Atton winked at her and took up the plasteel container. "This is probably all fish-food anyway, since the joint was overrun with Selkath, but…? What are you gonna do?" He pealed off the lid of the container, wrinkling his nose at the contents. He shrugged. "Might not be so bad."

Dane, at that point, was so hungry she would have eaten a stewed boot if she had to, but the smells wafting from the container were not horrible—quite the contrary. There was, indeed a faint fishy odor that Dane thought came from some bizarre mound of small orange beads that didn't look any food she had seen before. But there was also the smell of fresh bread that was heavenly. She watched as Atton spooned a pile of the orange beads onto a biscuit and handed it to her.

"What is it?" Dane asked, and took a bite before he could reply.

Atton shrugged. "Selkath breakfast. Those are fish eggs, from what I gathered. Any good?"

Dane nodded. "Very," she said, and she meant it. The little eggs were salty but the Selkath had also coated them with some kind of sweet, clear sauce that was delicious.

"Good," Atton said with a grin and loaded a biscuit for himself.

They ate in companionable silence—Atton eating twice as much, twice as fast—and washed down their Selkath breakfast with the rich caffa.

After awhile, Dane set aside her food and just watched Atton, a soft smile on her lips. He caught her looking at him, and said, "What?" through a mouthful of biscuit. "Did I spill on myself?" He inspected his shirt for the offending crumbs until Dane laughed.

"No," she said, "I was just…" _I was just thinking he shouldn't be allowed to wear a shirt ever again. His body…my god…_ Even though she hadn't spoken her thoughts aloud, Dane clamped a hand over her mouth, for now Atton was giving her a knowing grin, one eyebrow raised.

"Come again?" he asked. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that last part."

"Nothing," Dane said, giggling behind her hand, silently cursing the Force bond.

Atton narrowed his eyes and then shrugged. He washed his food down with a large swig of caffa and removed his shirt. "I don't mind," he said, getting to his feet. "Saves me the trouble of doing it later," he said and lay over her on the bed propping himself on his elbows. He silenced her giggles with a deep kiss.

Dane closed her eyes and wound her one arm through his hair and sent the other down his back. His kiss was warm and she tasted the caffa on his lips and tongue. _This is happiness…_she thought, and was gently surprised to sense his response, _Yeah, babe…love you. _

Dane kissed him more passionately then, and one of his hands began a slow descent to remove the bedsheet from around her. She shivered pleasantly as he buried his face in her neck, alternately biting and kissing the sensitive flesh there.

_Aren't you tired? _she thought. She didn't want him to stop, not by any stretch, but it was very difficult to get much sleep with Atton in the same bed.

_Never,_ came his response and Dane gave herself up to his touch…until a moment later, a pounding on the door jolted them from their embrace.

"Ignore it," Atton muttered into her neck, "and maybe they'll just go away."

Dane nodded and kissed him, running her fingers lightly down his chest, over the tight muscles of his stomach and toward the catches on his belt…and then the knocking came louder, this time accompanied by an irritated, muffled voice.

"Sorry for the intrusion," said the voice, which was clearly not sorry, "but it is an emergency."

"That's that Ignus," Atton growled. He nimbly jumped off the bed and headed for the door. Dane clutched the sheets around her chin and sighed.

"What?" Atton demanded none-too-politely of the hotel manager standing before him, the older man with a sour expression on his face.

"My apologies, sir," Ignus said with a slight inclination of his head and more than a touch of sarcasm in his voice, "but I have been asked—commanded, more accurately—to come and notify you that Yortal Ixlis has finished the repairs on your droids."

Atton snorted. "Major news flash, is it?" he muttered, his hand straying toward the door switch. "Tell him thanks for the service—the personal messenger was a nice touch—" he nodded at Ignus who scowled, "—but that we'll pick them up _later_."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Ignus said, looking as though he was prepared to put his foot in the door should Atton try to close it on him. "You see, Mr. Ixlis is _most _insistent that you come immediately and remove the droids from his shop. Apparently, you have in your possession, a _hunter-killer unit_?" Ignus pronounced each of those words slowly and distinctly.

Dane, still huddled in the sheets, grew nervous. _Ask him what HK has done. Did he hurt someone?_

Atton's face took on a momentarily glazed look and then he said, "Did he hurt someone?"

"No…_it _has not hurt anyone…not _yet," _Ignus replied, "but it is not, shall we say, _pleased_ to be at Mr. Ixlis' shop and has made several rather _graphic_ and _explicit_ threats as to what it shall do if forced to remain there."

Dane, who found that she couldn't stop giggling like a little girl this morning, buried her face in the sheet.

Atton, also trying not to smile, said in a much more polite tone, "All right, tell Ixlis to hold tight and we'll be right there. Oh, and Ignus," he added as the manager turned to leave, "try not to piss him off."  
"Who? Mr.Ixlis? Never, I—"

"Not Ixlis," Atton said, activating the door, "_HK_."

After it had shut, Atton returned to the bed and took up his position before the intrusion. "Now, where were we?"

"We should go," Dane whispered between kisses. "I don't want HK to do something stupid."

"He won't," Atton murmured.

"He might," Dane protested.

"Yeah, but he won't," Atton replied.

Dane smirked. _I can't argue with that logic, _she thought and then all rational thoughts flew out of her head.

An hour later, then a shower, then another twenty-minute delay that came as a result of the shower, Dane and Atton finally emerged from their room. Her white-blond hair was pulled into its little ponytail and her robes were neat and straight. Atton's hair, still wet from the shower, was combed and his shirt tucked into his pants. He wore his ribbed jacket and the black fingerless gloves she loved so much. They waited for the turbolift that would take them downstairs, neither saying anything, but smiling at one another knowingly. They stepped into the turbolift and Dane noticed a stray lock of hair had fallen over Atton's eyes. She reached up to smooth it back and the door closed…

When it opened again, Dane's hair was falling out of her ponytail and her robes were rumpled. Atton's hair stuck up in all directions and his jacket was half-off. A Selkath who had been waiting for the turbolift started at the sight of them.

"Hey!" Atton said, stepping out with Dane on his arm. "Watch yourself man, that turbolift is _fast_!"

Yortal Ixlis' droid shop was located in Ahto East; Atton knew the way as it was near the Sith-base-turned-restaurant he had procured their breakfast from. Even before the pair reached the entrance of the shop, they could hear HK-47's loud, metallic threats underscored by Yortal Ixlis' pleas for quiet and calm. Atton and Dane shared a glance and hurried to the shop.

The scene was one of tension that had the potential to escalate towards something worse. Yortal was attempting, unsuccessfully, to fit HK-47 with a restraining bolt and the hunter-killer unit was vociferously making its protest.

"Warning: Do not force me to repeat myself again, meatbag. Though I am currently bereft of weaponry, I have been programmed to defend myself by a number of methods, the least of which will result in my taking my foot apparatus and placing it firmly and securely into your—"

"HK!" Dane called, hurrying to Yortal's side. The human was quaking with fear but determined nonetheless that no droid was going to get the better of him in his own Emporium. "That's enough!" Dane ordered.

"Irritated and Impatient Statement: It is about time," HK-47 droned. "Offended Query: Have I failed to serve you, master, or behaved in a manner that displeases you? I am at a loss for why you would deem it necessary to leave me in the clutches of this sadistic meatbag for such a great length of time."

"Sadistic?" Yortal bellowed. "Why, you ungrateful…" The shop owner, still with one eye on HK-47, rounded on Dane and Atton. "This one belong to you?" he demanded. Dane nodded while Atton covered his laugh behind one hand.

"Yes, and I am so sorry if he has caused you much trouble," she replied.

Yortal snorted. "Are you, now? If you had just allowed me wipe its memory and fit it with this here restraining bolt—"

"Indignant Statement: You see? Restraining bolts and memory wipes—the tools of a madman."

Dane pressed her lips tightly together to keep from laughing while Atton was suddenly overcome with a violent bout of coughing. Dane turned to Yortal.

"My apologies, Mr. Ixlis, but my droids' memories are vital to my mission." She glanced around the Emporium. "Where is T3-M4?"

In response, the little astromech droid trundled around the corner, beeping and hooting its greeting. It too, by the sound of it, hadn't enjoyed its time in the droid shop.

"I am impressed at your skills, Mr. Ixlis," Dane went on. "I feared the water damage rendered them beyond repair." She patted T3 on the head and it whooped in return. "They are as I remember them."

"Yes, well," Yortal mumbled, clearly pleased at the compliment, "nothing an hour or so in the hot air centrifuge can't fix."

HK-47 stepped forward. "Sarcastic Query: Is that the meatbag name for that horrid device that I was subjected to?" He turned his photoreceptors to Dane. "Honestly, master, if you were unhappy with my service, there are far more charitable means by which to convey it."

"I am not unhappy with you, HK," Dane said. "Come, let's go and leave Mr. Ixlis to his work."

Yortal appeared as though Dane had just granted him a pardon. "Yes, yes, you must be busy," he said with a pleased smile, and he began hustling them to the door.

"Vociferous Objection," HK-47 bellowed in his tinny voice. "…Not without my disruptor carbine. I have endured numerous insults to my person with what I would think is a generous measure of patience, but I refuse to leave this house of horrors without my weapon."

Yortal Ixlis paled visibly, but at a nod from Dane, went and retrieved the enormous carbine from a securely locked locker at the rear of the store. HK took a step towards the man, his arms outstretched, but Yortal clutched it to him.

"Outside," he said.

"Of course," Dane said smoothly. "HK, you will have it back once we leave Mr. Ixlis' shop."

The droid's photoreceptors flashed but it remained silent.

"How much do I owe you?" Dane asked Yortal.

Yortal put up one hand as though to ward off a blow. "No, no, the Selkath have told me they will reimburse my fees…I'll take nothing from you." He pulled Dane aside and pressed the immense carbine into one hand and the restraining bolt into the other. "But you take this. That one—" he inclined his head toward HK-47, "—is dangerous."

Dane was about to protest but didn't see the point. She thanked Yortal as they left the shop and dropped the restraining bolt in the nearest waste receptacle lest HK catch a glimpse of it. Ahead of her, Atton was slapping the assassin droid on its rust-red back plating as if the two were old pals while T3 rolled along behind them. Dane smiled and hurried to catch up. She handed over the carbine to HK-47 and slipped her hand into Atton's as she fell in step with them.

HK-47 set the disruptor carbine into the crook of his arm. "Pleased Statement: That is more like it."

"I have to thank you both," Dane told the droids, "for your part in rescuing me from O'Bannon."

T3 hooted a jovial response while HK-47, still apparently peeved at his jaunt at Yortal's Emporium said snidely, "Caustic Statement: Oh, you're welcome, master. It was entirely my idea to plunge that loathsome vessel into the nearest watery planet as a means of saving you." HK's photoreceptors flickered in Atton's direction. "Query: Was that 'Plan B', Master Jaq?"

Atton smirked. "Yeah, you could say that. And don't call me Jaq."

Dane wore a puzzled frown. _Why did HK call you 'Jaq?'_

Atton glanced down at her and smiled. _It's a long story, babe. Some other time._

Dane nodded, for it was clear enough, not just by his words, but by his emotions that Atton was in too bright of spirits to begin relating the events of the last few days, and so she let it drop.

The four of them left marched along Ahto's durasteel corridors until Jolee Bindo rounded a corner and stopped. He scowled when he saw HK-47 and Dane was fairly certain HK would have done the same if it were possible.

"Well, now what in the Force is this?" Jolee demanded, eyeing the droids. He made a show of looking around as if searching for someone. "You got Revan lurking around here, somewheres? Must have—you've rounded up the rest of her crew, now didn't you? Planning a reunion, were you?"

Dane shrugged and smiled fondly at the old man. "Not planning, no. The Force…" she said simply.

"Aye, the Force," Jolee muttered. "Of course, shouldn't be surprised at that." He peered at Atton and Dane. "You two look different," he stated, giving them the once over. "A lot happier than last I saw you two days ago. Sort everything out, did you? Hmm, yes, talking will do that for you."

"So will sex," Atton muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Dane felt as though her face had caught fire. _Next time try the Force bond, _she told him and suppressed yet another urge to giggle like a fool.

Jolee narrowed his eyes. "You finally ready to work or is there anything else you two need to get straight between you?" he pressed with a sharp grin of his own.

A split second passed before Dane grasped the old man's meaning. "No, I'm ready," she said hurriedly, her blush deepening, while Atton guffawed loudly next to her. She pulled him away from the others. "Are you done yet?" she asked, trying not to smile and failing.

Atton's laughter slowly subsided. "He's a sharp old bastard, isn't he?"

"Yes, and he's not a bastard. Listen," she said, straightening his jacket and then holding onto the lapels, "you're on your own for a while. Be careful, all right?"

"Of course," Atton chided, stroking her hair. "I think I'll check out the swoop track. I hear they have a good one—wouldn't have thought it of those Selkath, but gods, what else you gonna do around here?"

Dane frowned. "It looks like its getting ready to storm," she began.

He glanced out of the viewport at the darkening sky and shrugged, "If the weather gets bad, they'll shut it down anyway." Her expression didn't change and he laughed again. "I'll be fine! Go have fun playing in the kolto or whatever it is you're going to do. Just…don't take too long," he said in a lower tone, drawing her closer.

"I won't," she replied softly as he bent down and kissed her.

"Statement: I don't know what it is worse; an hour in that horrid centrifuge, or being forced to observe the mating rituals of meatbags," HK was heard to remark loudly.

"No one's forcing you, you great pile of scrap," Jolee snapped, equally as loud. "Haven't changed a bit, have you? Still the same old ray of sunshine you were when it was Revan dragging us around the galaxy."

"Clarification: I have processed that you are a meatbag of advanced years, but I would have surmised that you could still tell the difference between a sophisticated assassin droid and a beam of photogenic energy—"

"Stow it," Jolee returned.

"I'll take HK with me," Atton said, smiling his crooked grin. "You take Jolee. Between HK's threats and the old man's complaining, we'll both come to have a new appreciation for staying in our room…alone. Not like we need it," he added with a wink. He kissed her again and then moved to the droids. "Come on, HK, the _Ebon Hawk _misses you."

"Statement: Oh yes, of course I will retreat to the ship at once," HK replied with sarcasm. "Just whatever you do, don't ask me to kill anyone. No, no, don't do that. I'm much better off rusting in the _Ebon Hawk."_

"You're not to kill anyone unless commanded by me," Dane told the droid, "or unless we are obviously in mortal danger, do you understand?"

HK's photoreceptor's glittered. "Answer: Of course, master," he droned dismally, and then brightened. "Statement: Perhaps I shall get lucky and find a stowaway gizka. I recall they make for excellent target practice."

"Maybe he _should _have had his memory wiped—he's starting to sound like he's a few cards short of a full deck," Atton muttered to Dane.

T3-M4 knocked up against Atton's leg and hooted sadly.

Atton glanced down at the little droid. "Fine," he said with a resigned sigh. "Come on, if you're coming. Let's see if we can find some use for you besides getting in my way. I'm sure the _Hawk_ could use some work after that kid flew it. Probably messed around with my console…"

Dane smiled fondly as Atton and the droids disappeared around a corner. _They are my family,_ came the sudden thought. _Even the droids…and Mission and Jolee and Bao-Dur…_She looked to Jolee who was waiting for her, an expectant expression on his wizened features.

"I'm ready," Dane told him.

Jolee nodded once. "All right then. Let's get to work."

* * *

Lirik watched Macen Vorn navigate his way over a rough track from one of the monitors mounted in the corners of what he had taken to calling the "Swoop Room." The room was nearly empty, most onlookers having gone after it became obvious that the conditions for racing were not optimal. Indeed, Macen, who currently held the track's record, was clearly struggling against biting wind and speed-boosting platforms that bobbed and swayed over the turbulent water.

Lirik couldn't care less if Macen's took five, ten, or even twenty minutes—his racer had already made the dark Jedi a bucket of credits. No, Lirik was eager for his new game to start and so when Atton Rand walked into the room, Lirik smiled brightly and waved him over with an eager hand.

_Now the real fun begins…_

Atton would remember the afternoon only in bits and pieces. He remembered taking the droids back to the _Hawk. _He remembered a brief conversation with Mission there and something about ghosts. But after that, his memories broke apart and all that remained were shattered flashes…images that came to him out of the dark like a black sky illuminated briefly by lightening. And there had been lightening. He remembered blue crackles of it but not in the sky. He remembered white, streaking flashes and those _did_ come from the sky to touch the water on the horizon like skeletal fingers. He remembered that water, cold and choppy as he raced over it. He was going fast—too fast…couldn't control it…and the water came and rushed up to meet him.

The water...that image had pain in it. Touch it softly and your hand would slide right into it. Hit it hard and it was as hard and unyielding as permacrete….and Atton had hit it hard.

He remembered the hum of the bike beneath him, heard the engine's purr turn into a high-pitched whine as it went faster and faster…the water below became a murky blur. He remembered, only vaguely, trying to decelerate; he remembered his own panicked thoughts, a frantic litany—_Slow down! Slow down!—_better. It was those thoughts he took with him into the water…

Atton remembered the bump as he hit one of the track's obstacles; he remembered the sensation of weightlessness as he flew into the air, the bike falling away below him. After that, it went dark and the images were not those of the eye, but of pain.

He hit that unforgiving water with his right shoulder and his shoulder gave before the water did. He felt a sickening, warm pressure and then a _slipping_ feeling as the bones ground together and then came apart. A sense of _wrongness _accompanied that horrible sliding feeling and he knew, without consciously thinking it, that his arm was no longer where it was supposed to be.

The right side of his face struck next and his nose flattened itself over his face. That pain was hard but transient, washed away by an ocean of seawater that seemed to be trying to find its way into his nose, mouth and eyes. His torso hit next and Atton felt the breath pushed from his body and a terrible crushing sensation that made it feel as though the ocean waters had formed a great fist that had slammed into him as he fell. Then the water gave way beneath him. He began to sink below the surface and then everything went mercifully black.

A tiny, stabbing jab in his leg…a needle…and then a warmth that spread and began to pull him out of the safe blackness of oblivion he had sunk into. He fought it but the needle won and Atton was slowly dragged into the blaring white-hot light of consciousness and pain…

Lirik watched as the stimulant did its job. He knelt over Atton's sodden form, Lirik's head mere inches from his. "Thanks for that, pal," Lirik whispered into Atton's ear and then cackled, pocketing the stim lest Macen arrive with the help he had gone to find. "I wouldn't have known to get it from that bartender in the cantina if it wasn't for you, so, really, this is all your fault," Lirik laughed and gave Atton a friendly pat on the misshapen lump that was his right shoulder, eliciting a strangled gasp from him. "The bartender tells me they are of the finest quality, but you would know better than me. So, how is it? Worth the ten credits I paid?" Lirik snickered again as Atton only moaned.

The dark Jedi hadn't the ability to heal and wouldn't have used it if he had, but Atton had been dragged out of the water by Macen unconscious and that didn't follow Lirik's lesson plan at all. The stim hauled Atton out of blackness and into the pain, which was just where Lirik wanted him. Better yet, the stim had the side effect of filling Atton's veins with adrenaline so that his ravaged muscles did not rest, but were tight and alive. Lirik watched with wide, gleeful eyes, as Atton slowly came awake, the stim taking a greater hold.

"That is nasty," Lirik commented as Atton, now writhing in a semi-state of wakefulness, clutched weakly at his right shoulder. "I didn't realize you could grow an arm out of your ear," he whispered to Atton, his smile wide and his laughter was like a child's—shrill and cutting. "You have admirably completed the first part of the lesson. With flying colors. In fact, I didn't realize you would _throw yourself_ into the work like you have," Lirik said, and cackled again at his own jest.

Atton's eyes fluttered open and he struggled to speak. He coughed once and a spurt of bright red blood issued from his mouth to stain his chin.

"Ah, internal injuries. My favorite," Lirik purred. "They're hard to spot and harder to treat, and I daresay that stim isn't helping matters."

With a cautious glance at the door for any sign of Macen and the Jedi woman he was sure to fetch, Lirik laid his hand over Atton's heart and stretched his senses, carefully and slowly. He knew that was a foolish thing to do—use of the dark side of the Force by him instantly rendered the protection he had from the amulet moot—but he was eager to feel, exactly and completely, the suffering he had caused. A moment later, a slow smile spread over his face.

Atton's heart was racing—the stimulant now in full effect—and his breath was coming in short, hitching gasps punctuated by delirious-sounding moans. Lirik felt pain radiating from his shoulder and face where his nose was flattened to one side and awash with blood. But neither injury, Lirik understood, were terrible in and of themselves. He felt, too, a crushing pressure from Atton's chest and _that_ sensation caused Lirik's smile to widen_. Broken ribs, punctured lungs, and the gods alone know what else. How glorious, _he thought. _And let us not forget the overall shock to the body, first from the crash and then the stim, which must be causing so much delicious pain. _

Lirik drank it in through the dark side of the Force for as long as he dared and then quickly withdrew his hand. His seething whispers became words of encouragement and companionship, so that when Atton came fully awake, he would see Lirik holding his hand in brotherly commiseration. The dark Jedi was smiling down at him with the perfect mixture of worry and sympathy painted onto his features.

Atton's eyes rolled about and then finally met Lirik's. "Wha…" he gasped, blood flecking his lips again. His muscles contracted with adrenaline, causing the displaced bones in his shoulder to grind together. He bit back a scream and looked up at Lirik mutely, unable to speak.

"What happened?" Lirik finished for him. "Don't worry about that now. Help is coming, my friend. But I will say this; I wouldn't go near Macen's bike again anytime soon. Why he let you use it when he knew there was a problem with the accelerator, I'll never know…"

* * *

Jolee led Dane outside of the Ahto settlement and to a secluded platform near the water's edge. The wind had picked up and dark clouds were rolling in quickly. She clutched her robes around her, huddling into the cowl for warmth.

"We won't have much time 'til were rained on, I reckon," the old Jedi muttered, glancing at the darkening sky, "but there's time enough to show you a little bit of what I been working on."

Dane said nothing as he led her to where two small plasteel containers. Both were filled with water, and one held good amount of a green, kelp-looking substance. The other held two silvery fish that twisted their bodies around each other in the small confines of the box.

Jolee knelt—with a great groan and complaint of old joints—beside the boxes, and then glanced around furtively, as though to ensure they were alone. The coming storm had driven most indoors and he gave a satisfied grunt. "The Selkath would throw six different kinds of fits if they saw I was using their precious seaweed like this," he explained.

Dane, eager and curious as to what the old man was doing, remained silent. She knelt beside him and waited. He seemed to appreciate this for he said, "No silly chatter from you, eh? Good. Don't have much use for it myself—even if I do ramble now and then…"

Dane watched as he picked up a handful of the kolto. It was a deep green but up close, she could see a bluish tinge to the fat, bulbous leaves.

"You're a Jedi Knight and now a Master and no doubt your gallivanting around the galaxy with that manipulative old crone found you staring out of the business end of more than one kolto tank, eh? Or maybe in the war. It ain't none of my concern, but the point is, you've probably seen kolto after its been processed all to hell."

Dane nodded, remembering how she awoke on Peragus in a tank of the substance, not knowing how or why she got there.

"Well, this is it, natural-like," Jolee said and dumped the green mass into her hands. He peered at her with his dark eyes. "What do you feel?"

Dane held the kolto for a moment, feeling the rubbery vines against her fingers. "It feels," she said, after a moment, "alive."

Jolee smiled briefly. "Aye, it is, though I hauled that bunch out of the sea more than a week ago. Anything else?"

"No," Dane said after another minute. "Should I?"

Jolee's grin widened. "Nope, not yet." Before Dane knew what was happening, a small knife appeared in the old Jedi's hands and he sliced one of the fat, rounded leaves open. A bluish-green liquid spilled out over her hand and she felt a raw tingling sensation wherever it touched her skin.

"It feels as a kolto tank feels…but much stronger and _rougher _somehow," Dane said.

Jolee nodded. "Aye, it is unrefined. The Selkath alone know how to purify it and distill it and all that rot. But that doesn't interest me. Leave that to them, I say, for they got the tech on it, and it's not what I'm here for anyway." Jolee reached into the plasteel container that held the fish and drew one out, squeezing it tight as it writhed in his hand. "I hope you don't mind a bit of cruelty to animals if it's for a worthy cause," he said and sliced the fish's skin with his little knife. He set the fish on the ground where it struggled and bled, its gills flapping open and closed in a pathetic attempt to breathe.

"Drip some of the kolto's blood onto the fish," Jolee instructed.

Dane, who didn't particularly care for cruelty to animals of any kind, quickly did as she was told. She watched as the bluish-green juice Jolee had called 'kolto blood' splattered onto the fish's torn skin. Where it touched, the skin began to hiss and bubble and the fish struggled harder.

"I thought it would heal…" Dane began but Jolee silenced her.

"Ssh, watch."

She did and saw that the cut on the fish's skin began, under the bubbling and hissing, begin to mend. In a matter of moments, the skin was healed.

"It's raw," Jolee explained, and released the fish into the ocean waters where it lay on its side for a moment before wriggling its way under the surface. "When it's like that—pure and unrefined—kolto's harsh and strong. Again, the Selkath have fixed it that so an injured person doesn't have to suffer through their healing too."

Dane nodded but couldn't help but wonder where this was all leading to. Jolee caught her eye and raised a brow. "You're wondering where this is all leading to, eh?" he said and snickered at her surprised expression. "It doesn't take the Force to know when a teacher is losing his student."

"You're not losing me," Dane replied. "I am just trying to deduce for myself what it is you have discovered…"

"Ah, trying to outsmart the smart old Jedi, are you?" he said and laughed. "Patience, missy, and you'll see. Now, what just happened was typical kolto at work as we know it, if a little rough around the edges. You dump kolto blood on an injured thing and it starts to heal. Well, what happens if you dump the injured thing onto the kolto? Not the blood, but the actual slippery stuff you're still tolerantly holding in your hands, bless you."

Dane laughed and shrugged. "The same thing, I would imagine."

"So would I," Jolee said. "But that's not quite what happens. Lay that mess down."

Dane complied, setting the pile of kolto on the ground. The wind was howling now and Dane could feel the first pinpricks of rain sting her face, but she paid it no mind, so intent was she on what Jolee was doing. Once again, the old Jedi's hand reached into the container and pulled out the second silvery fish, and once again he sliced it open with his knife. He glanced up at Dane with a gleam in his eye and said, "Watch this."

Dane watched as Jolee laid the injured fish on the bed of kolto. Her eyes widened in amazement as the cut along the length of the fish began to close almost at once, but this time there was no hissing or bubbling—the skin simply came together. And beneath the fish, Dane watched as the kolto that touched the animal began to shrivel and turn brown.

"It is dying," Dane said, perplexed.

"Aye, but only the leaves that are in contact with the fish," Jolee pointed out. He waited until the fish's skin had completely healed and then dumped it into the ocean to join its brethren. "Look at that," he said, poking a wrinkled kolto leaf with a wrinkled finger.

Dane shook her head. "I don't understand what happened."

Jolee sat back on his haunches and regarded her. The wind was tossing his wispy white hair around but he paid it no mind. "I suspect that kolto has the Force in it—I _know _it does, for every living thing is consumed with it. But the kolto is different. It _uses_ the Force. Not on purpose or consciously, of course, but it does."

"How do you know?" Dane asked.

"Because that kind of healing is not just a compound of chemicals and reactions and all that nonsense. You saw it—the fish was healed and its wound wasn't touching the kolto leaves. No, that is the Force at work."

Dane nodded. "That is why it felt alive in my hands," she said and then looked at him questioningly. "How do you plan to use this knowledge to help those who are very badly injured—the one's who seem beyond saving? I'm imagining, instead of kolto tanks, kolto beds…"

Jolee smiled gently. "You got a sweet heart, I know, and I wish it was that easy. The kolto's properties only go so far, no matter how you use it. Be it a tank or a bed, its powers are limited. I experimented with a large fish and a deeper wound and the fish still died. No, it is not the kolto that is going to do the work." He sighed and looked at her, smiling gently. "Every act of goodness, especially the big ones, takes sacrifice. That kolto sacrificed itself for the fish. It took on the fish's injury and a part of it died. So it will be with us, but not with seaweed, with the Force."

Dane's eyes widened, as understanding came to her.

Jolee watched her and nodded as the rain began to fall. "Our healing, the way we use the Force, we cram it into the injured person's body and it does its job. But what if we used the Force like the kolto does? What if we, instead of just sending it into the person, we took it back too? We take it back and in so doing, take from the person some of their injury so they do not bear it alone…"

The possibilities Jolee's proposition opened were just beginning to dawn on Dane when a sudden, sharp pain doubled her over, as though an unseen hand had pressed down on her chest, taking her breath away. A terrible sense of disorientation and vertigo followed and she felt as though she had been flung head over heels. Her shoulder erupted in agony and her nose followed a second after, and she cried out…but the pain subsided as quickly as it had come.

She raised her head, for she had crumpled to the ground, and saw Jolee staring down at her.

"You all right, missy?" he asked, more than a touch of concern on his lined face.

Dane nodded and sat up cautiously, fearful her unseen attacker would strike again…and then she knew. _Atton…our bond…_

"Atton," she told Jolee, as he helped her to stand. "Something's happened…" Dane waited until a wave of dizziness passed and then raced into the settlement, Jolee on her heals.

Immediately, in her panic, she became lost. Every clean, metallic corridor looked like the last and she couldn't remember how to get to the swoop track. She swore under her breath as the minutes ticked by, running until Jolee grabbed her shoulder and forced her to stop and center herself.

"Now, hold on, missy," Jolee wheezed, his hands on his knees. "Running around blindly like a fool isn't going to do a bit of good, and you know it."

Dane had to accept that he was right, but her panic would not subside so easily. She cursed the storm that had driven Ahto's inhabitants into hiding so that none were about to give her directions. She cursed the Force bond she had with Atton that was still too weak to draw her to him. She cursed too—and more deeply—herself and the horrible bad luck that shadowed her, a luck that granted no more than a day's worth of happiness before snatching it away again. _But he is alive, I can feel it. _

The thought calmed her and just as she began to recognize the corridors around her and orient herself, Macen Vorn rounded the corner. He was out of breath and dripping wet, and the expression on his face was grim.

"It's Atton," Macen said, when he caught his breath. "There's been an accident."

* * *

**Notes to Reviewers**: Hmm, some more fluff...well, now that Atton's taking a tumble, so to speak, won't see too much more of that, I reckon, so I went overboard to make up for the lack of it in coming chapters. Besides, didn't more than one of you guys call him a "badass"? Let's help him get back to those roots, shall we? ;)

To **qt3.14159:** Thanks ever so much for the review. Oh, that pesky Code. Dustil's trying, no doubt thanks to his training with Juhani who actually, you know, _follows_ it.

To **Magenta2:** Well, I was speechless after I read your review. Wow, thank you so much for the generous words. I'm so glad you are enjoying the story and I hope this chapter and every one from here on out earns the same sentiments. But really, I am touched and honored by your review and I will do my best to keep on keeping on...:) Thank you.

To **LuvsDelkoSpeed:** "Spoon with a thermal detonator." LOL. Well, as a baby, Lirik had a mobile made of hand grenades. Does that count? ;) And yep, Atton finally got it--after the girl hit him over the head with it. But that's what the Force is for. It says what you don't have the words for. Kinda like an intergalatic Hallmark card, no?

To **gekkeiju**: I'd send Carth right over to you but UPS doesn't do people. ;) Thanks for the review and I'm glad you're still with me. :)

To **Miss Becky:** Canon! Ok, we'll get to that in a second, after I go smoke a cigarra and soak my head that is threatening to grow to rancor-like proportions. Firstly, you have every right to be worried about everybody but what makes me happy is that you _are_, that you care, you know? (sighs happily) And yeah, Dane had to take the risk and tell him (because if she didn't do something I was going to smack her silly...time to move ON.) Atton seeing the Sith manipulation...hmm, maybe. Or maybe he's still so guilty over that time period when he was a Sith that he just buries the whole mess until it is too late... Only time will tell. Afterall, Lirik still has two more lessons to do. (For turning to DS: lather, rinse, repeat.) So, that canon word is a big one and I am truly touched that you would consider that portrayal of events so. Thank you.

To **LunaticPandora:** LOL, love the quote. Thanks for the review, I do appreciate them, ohyes I do.

To **Revan's Pet Duck:** Naughty, naughty.:)Too badRevan is so far away. And she'll stay there and they'll be notrans-galaticshenanigans...not yet.

To**Kuramas Girl Angel:** Mission does have some problems but maybe she should just take abreak and hang out with Bao-Dur. That'swhat Iwould do. :) Thanks for the review, sweetie.

To **demonessjo:** Oh, I just love those big, fat, multi-paragraphs of yours...:) I'm glad you're liking the twins since O'Bannon has gone to that big floating barge in the sky...orto the ninth circle of hell, depending on your point of view. Lirik is too weak to strike at Dane himself, so he hurts her in the worst possible way--through her man. Up next, Lanik has a turn at bat. Poor Bastila. And poor Dustil...;) Thank you so much for you review and I'm glad Dane's POV came across. I love the gal and want others to love her too. :) (hugs demonessjo) Thanks again!

To **DragonScales13**: LOL! (Macen dodges the blow and points mutely at the halo around his head.) Not buying it, are you? ;) Yep, ole Mission has her some man problems but she has a great way of handling them, you know? She calls it her left hook. Thanks for the review!


	28. When Bad Things Happen

**_Author's Note: F-bombs are falling from the sky! Ok, not lots, but a few.So, ye be warned. _**

**Chapter 28 **

**When Bad Things Happen to Good Men...**

_Don't breathe, don't breathe, don't breathe, gods make it stop…_

Atton draws in a breath only because he has to. The agony is sharp, and then he coughs—horrible retching that is like…_Like knives twisting, I've swallowed shards of glass…_ He tastes blood and the pain threatens to overwhelm him but darkness will not come. His thoughts are racing in time to his heart that pounds in his chest as though it were trying to escape.

_Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop…_

A spasm bends down and shakes him and he hears his own ragged scream, hears bones shift and grind…_My arm, oh gods, someone fucking make it stop…_

Faces swim into view. Lirik, his face pitying, and Selkath, their alien visages unreadable. And Mission.

"Oh, Atton," the girl cries. He looks at her.

_Don't breathe, don't breathe, Mission breathe for me, please…_

But Mission only cries over him, he feels her tears on his skin.

And then Dane…Dane is beside him and touching him and he tries to tell her he's never loved anyone but her because he owes it to her, and then maybe she will help him…_Help me, babe, please…I'll do anything for you…_

"Atton, I'm here, love," she whispers. "I'm here."

_…Die for you…_

"D-Dane, help him." The Twi'lek's voice, shaky and small.

And then Dane, "I will." Her voice is hard and she lays her hands on him.

_Yes, anything for you…_ But she snatches her hands away as though he's burned her.

"There is something wrong," she says.

_Wrong, wrong, wrong…My arm is wrong and there are knives in my chest…_

The old Jedi's voice comes, his dry hand touches Atton's forehead. "Something in his blood," the old Jedi murmurs. "He's in a bad way; feverish too, but he should be out cold. Don't understand it."

_Don't breathe, don't…_ But he has to breathe and so he does…He coughs and warm blood spills over his chin…_knives in my chest, snakes made of glass, writhing, why won't someone help me…?_

_"Hold on, love," _says Dane through the bond. She lays her hands on him and then he is floating in warm water and the pain recedes like a tide…but only for a precious few seconds and then…_No, no more, no…_

"It's not helping," Dane says. There is anger in her voice. "Why?"

Lirik's voice, hesitant, "I found this falling out of his pocket. Maybe…?"

"A stim. Atton doesn't take stims," Dane says.

Another shudder wracks him, the knives twist and more blood stains his chin. He thinks his shoulder is made of ground glass and heat, and he prays for blackness but it won't come. _Dane, I can't…_

_"Hold on, love, please…" _Dane is very angry. "Why is he coughing blood?"

"Not good," says the old Jedi and Mission begins to sob. "Broken ribs'll do that. He's delirious with fever too. We have to put that shoulder right and get him to the med facility. You there," he calls out. "You look strong enough. You up for this?"

"Sure thing," says Macen and Atton sees the man over him.

The old Jedi says, "Take his hand. I'll give a three-count. You with me?"

_Three count… count down to the end…_He glares at Macen who is standing too close to him, who is leaning down to touch him. _I never liked you, you know…Touch me and I'll break you… _

Macen's hand closes around his own—the hand that is attached to the arm that is now made of ground glass and fire.

_Let go of me you son of a bitch…_

"Look at me, Atton. Look only at me," Dane says. He does so, seeking her eyes…"Don't look anywhere but at me, all right? Jolee is going to count to three and when he does, it will be all over, okay?"

Atton tries to shake his head, tries to tell her that it is a lie and that Jolee and Macen are going to tear him into pieces… And then the old man says, "One," and Atton feels his thoughts break apart and begin to slither around in his mind like snakes over a pool of oil.

_One…one card on the plus-or-minus-four makes five…they told me I was slow, but I showed them, showed them all…_

"Two."

_Two card down, makes seven, don't breathe, not yet… I swear, mother, I'll never drink again…_Atton hears his own choking laughter.

Dane's hand in his tightens. _She is so beautiful…I wish I could keep her always…_

"Three."

Atton's world is pain, blinding white and searing hot, and in that light he can see Bao-Dur and the tech tells him he did well and that he's going to be all right. But before Atton can call his dead friend a bastard and a liar, the white light is dimming and finally, Atton sees the darkness. He crawls into it, huddles in it like a small child cowering while storms break outside, and before he goes to sleep, Lirik…

_This is only the beginning…_

* * *

Dane sat on the windowsill, watching the rain rail and beat against the glass, like a violent, frustrated animal trying to break in. It was near dawn but there was no light yet touching the horizon and there wouldn't be, for the clouds were black and thick. 

"We've stayed too long," Dane said softly.

Jolee glanced at her from his seat on the other side of the windowsill. Mission, sitting on the floor with her arms wrapped around her knees, raised her head. Dane's were the first words any of them had spoken in an hour.

After Atton's shoulder had been reset, they had taken him to the med facility. The facility was staffed by the most current, most sophisticated med droids, overseen by the Selkath. The droids had done their work with a detached efficiency—skilled but without compassion. The images of the work done to repair Atton were like harsh slaps to the face that made Dane wince every time she thought of them, but she seemed powerless not to.

The droids had been devoid of emotion as they reset Atton's nose and then jammed a tube into it to help him breathe. She had watched how their cold, metallic hands had cut him open so that they might put him back together again. She remembered the blood that had been spilled and the whirring sounds of the droids' instruments as they repaired Atton's punctured lungs. She tried to forget how cold his skin was as she and Jolee, working in concert with the droids, sent waves of the Force into him to speed his recovery. When it was over, the Selkath vehemently opposed moving Atton back to the hotel, but Dane refused to leave him in the facility…unguarded.

"Aye, it is time to go," Jolee said, his voice also low, but it pulled Dane from her ruminations.

"But we can't," Dane muttered. "Atton is our pilot and he is not well enough." She glanced behind her, at Atton's sleeping form on the bed. Even in the dimness of the room she could see the stark white bandage on the left side of his chest. _From where they cut him open…_Dane pushed the memory away and looked to Jolee. "The moment he is able, we will leave. In the meantime, I wish to continue our studies. I don't want…" Dane swallowed hard. "I _refuse_ to come this close to losing him because I was not strong enough in the Force to save him."

"You did save him," Mission protested softly. "You both did. He'd be a lot worse off if—"

"You didn't feel him suffer!" Dane hissed, and Mission recoiled. "He was in so much pain, and I—I couldn't help him." She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands and took a steadying breath. "I want to learn how to do what the kolto does."

"Patience, missy," Jolee said soothingly. "We did the best we could and the Selkath did the rest. Be grateful he's still with us. As for our work, it'll take time, and we best let it. Using the Force like how I showed you—it's not simple and it sure as hell ain't safe. There is danger there, I know it."

"I don't care," Dane said dully.

"Well, I do," Jolee returned. "I know you. I know you would have taken as much of his pain as you could and probably would've died for it." The old Jedi shook his head. "No, we're going to keep working, but we're going to be smart about it."

Dane nodded. "Fine. And then we're going to get off this planet." She turned her eyes back to the storm raging outside as her thoughts went inward, again, to the events of the night.

_The Selkath didn't want him to let him go but it wasn't safe to leave him. I know it. This was no accident…_Dane sighed and decided the time had come to confront her instincts. Jolee seemed to sense that she was ready, for he said, "You want to talk about it?"

Dane nodded. She looked to Mission. "How much did you see?" she asked. Mission flinched and Dane knew her tone was cold, but she could not help it.

"N-nothing," Mission replied in a small voice. "I got there a minute before you did. He was already in a bad way…"

Mission's words trailed away and her tear-filled eyes rested on Atton's sleeping form. Dane said nothing for a moment. _There are too many questions left unanswered, _she thought darkly.

"Were Lirik and Macen with him when you arrived?"

Mission shook her head. "Lirik was, but Macen wasn't. I guess he had gone to get you."

"What was Lirik doing?"

Mission glanced up. "He was trying to help. I heard him trying to comfort Atton, and tell him that you were coming."

"Did he try to heal him?"

The Twi'lek frowned. "Yes, he tried. But the stim…You don't think Lirik had anything to do with it, do you? He's a Jedi."

Dane sighed but it released none of the tension that was coiled in her. "I know, but I don't know what to think of him," she said. "I can't…"

"Can't what?"

"I can't get near him," Dane said. "I don't mean physically," she said, answering Mission's perplexed look. "I mean, with every other person, I get a sense of them, of who they are. Lirik is like a stranger."

Jolee, who had remained silent until then, nodded. "Aye, it is the same for me. He is a strange one. Not like any Jedi I ever seen. But does that make him a bad guy? Can't say."

Mission shrugged. "He seems nice enough to me. He wouldn't hurt Atton. And besides, wouldn't you… I don't know, _feel _if he was bad?"

"I suppose," Dane said, and turned to Jolee. "But what about that stim? Atton doesn't take them—at least, I have never known him to."

"You'll have to ask Atton that," Jolee said. "In fact, Atton's the one who'll probably be able to tell us if it was only an accident, or if we got some head-bashing to do."

Dane's eyes darkened. "If he remembers anything." She looked to Jolee. "Perhaps it was only and accident, but why didn't Lirik help us? During the surgery?"

Jolee made to reply when Mission cut in. "I heard him talking outside to Macen. He said he felt responsible somehow. He said he supposed to be watching over you and Atton, to protect you both. He looked really ashamed, you know? I think that's why he didn't stick around."

Dane absorbed this but the Twi'lek's words did little to stop the nagging unease she had felt about Lirik since the day she met him. _Like the implant on the back of my neck…Thinking of him makes my mind itch. _"I wish Dustil hadn't jumped off-planet so suddenly," Dane said. "He's the only one who knows Lirik."

"Does he?" Jolee said, while Mission, at the sound of Dustil's name, returned to cradling her head in her arms. "Seems to me the Onasi boy knew Lirik's _brother_, but not Lirik. And where did that brother come from?" Jolee looked Dane straight in the eye. "You want my opinion? I don't know if Lirik had something to do with the whole mess, but I say don't trust none of'em. Not him and not Macen. I don't know Macen from a hole in the ground and Lirik may be Jedi, but that don't mean squat in my book."

"You think it wasn't just an accident?" Mission asked, her eyes going between Dane and Jolee.

"I sense that it was not, but when I try to see or feel beyond that, there is nothing," Dane replied. "I am not going to accuse a Jedi Knight of wrong-doing with no proof, and I find it nearly impossible to believe Macen would hurt anyone close to me, but I just don't know. Maybe it was only an accident and I am just seeking someone to blame." _But if I find out either of them had something to do with this, I will have a hard time being merciful, _Dane added silently. She didn't like the ugliness of her thought but the images of the evening were still with her, as were Atton's mute appeals through their bond that she help him to stop the pain…

"Well, I agree with you, you can't go around accusing people when you got no proof," Jolee said, standing up and stretching, "but you can't ignore your gut feeling, either. If you decide to leave Manaan with Lirik and Macen still on it, you won't hear me complain." He patted her cheek with a gnarled hand. "Get some rest, now, you hear? That's where I'm headed. I'm getting to old for this sort of thing," he said, making his way to the door. "We'll work some more tomorrow when you've had some sleep." He paused at Atton's bedside. Dane heard him mutter, "Fool, boy, swoop racing in a hurricane," but he patted Atton on the hand gently to take the sting out of his words and then was gone.

Dane watched him go, wishing she didn't feel as confused as she did.

"Do you need me anymore?" Mission asked. "I'll stay if you do, but…"

Dane smiled thinly. "No, thank you. I'm sorry I was short with you earlier. I'm just…"

"It's okay," Mission said, getting to her feet. "You're worried about him. I was too. But he's going to be fine now."

Dane nodded, walking the girl to the door. "Thanks for staying with me, Mission."

The Twi'lek smiled. "Sure thing." She reached to activate the door and then stopped. "You know what? I just remembered something. It probably doesn't mean anything…"

"What?" Dane prompted. They were both whispering now, so as not to wake Atton.

Mission looked at her. "Atton came to drop off the droids at the _Hawk _and told me he was going to go swoop racing. He asked me if I wanted to come and I said no. I wasn't feeling very up to it, you know? With Dustil leaving…" The Twi'lek's eyes clouded for a moment but she shook her head and continued. "Anyway, a little while later, I got this really strong urge to go the track. I don't know what came over me, but all of a sudden I was running out of the _Hawk—_really racing, you know?—like I had to get there or I was going to miss something." Mission's face fell. "But when I arrived, Atton was… he had already…Anyway, that probably doesn't mean anything."

_Or it might mean everything, _Dane thought. _That was Bao-Dur. __My friend is with me still. _

"Thank you, Mission," Dane said, and hugged the girl tightly. "Thank you very much."

"Uh, sure, no problem," the Twi'lek returned, looking perplexed at Dane's sudden affection. But she was too tired to question it. She stifled a yawn and then turned to go, stopping, as Jolee had, by Atton. "Good night, Dane. Let me know when he wakes up, okay? You probably don't want to come all the way down to the _Hawk_, but—"

"Actually," Dane replied with a warm smile, "I was just thinking that I am long overdue to go there. Tomorrow, in fact."

Mission brightened. "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow, Dane. Good night, Atton," she whispered, bending to kiss the pilot on the cheek, and then she left the room.

Atton stirred at the sound of the door sliding shut and Dane went to him at once. Carefully, she sat beside him on the edge of the bed and took his hand in hers, watching him to see if he would wake. His shoulder was a rainbow of blues and purples, as was the skin under his eyes. _But he is alive…thank the gods. Wake up, love, and tell me you're going to be all right. _

She watched with rising hope as Atton struggled to open his eyes. After several failed attempts, he finally managed it and he smiled weakly up at her. "Hiya, sweets," he whispered, and Dane felt hot tears spring to her eyes. His smile faded quickly, however, as though he had suddenly remembered something terrible but he couldn't yet grasp it. He glanced down at the bandage low on his chest, at the end of his ribcage. "Knives," he muttered.

Dane pressed his hand to her cheek. "It's all right now, Atton. You're all right."

His regarded her tiredly, his gray-green eyes dark over the bruising. "Is it over?" he asked, his voice no more than a croak.

Dane willed herself not to cry. "Yes, love. It's over."

He nodded once, satisfied, and sank back to sleep.

Dane held his hand for long moments and then carefully stretched out beside him. She rested her cheek on his uninjured shoulder and lay her arm over his chest, mindful of the bandage.

Atton was breathing easily and Dane fell asleep listening to him, thinking that after the events of this night, his soft, steady breaths sounded sweeter than music and that the gentle rise and fall of his chest was her greatest happiness.

* * *

**Coruscant….**

Dustil Onasi stepped off the ramp of the small freighter and onto the docking pad at the eastern edge of the city. He was far from the Jedi Temple, but the night was clear and cool, and suitable for walking. _And I need time to center myself before I arrive, _he thought. He waved goodbye to the merchant who had supplied him the ride from Manaan, and headed out into the street.

Dustil walked slowly, the repulsorlift-powered speeders zipping past, and tried to calm his turbulent emotions. Even after the day-and-a-half long journey from Manaan, he was unable to keep the events of his last night with Mission from invading his thoughts. Just thinking about her, his chest tightened and he regretted the abruptness in which he left. _I should not have let her stay with me in the _Hawk. _I should not have sought to be alone with her. I should not have kissed her. _But no matter how many "should not haves" he came up with, he could not banish the Twi'lek from his mind and heart. _Damn, _he thought, running a hand through his dark brown hair, _Master Juhani is going to have my hide for this one. _The Cathar was due to arrive on Coruscant that very night and Dustil knew he could walk across the planet and his feelings for Mission would still be written all over his face when he sat with Juhani.

Dustil allowed a scowl to flit over his handsome features and a violent notion took him. _To hell with the Code! Why shouldn't I be happy? Dane has Atton and she is a master. Why should it be any different for me? _

One block later and Dustil was feeling contrite again. He reminded himself that he was a Jedi and he vowed to obey the Code to the letter.

Three blocks after that and was remembering how sweet Mission's mouth tasted and how warm her body felt under his.

A half a block later he was damning the Code, damning Juhani, and damning himself for leaving Mission. He nearly turned around with the crazy notion to find a ride back to Manaan when he saw Lanik Thrakill fifty meters ahead. The Jedi Master was walking at his leisurely, contemplative pace, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his robes. Dustil knew that if he could see Lanik's face, the man would appear deep in thought, his eyes on distant horizons and his mind undoubtedly concentrating on important matters…

_Brother, I have news, _Lanik thought as he strolled down the street, out for his nightly constitutional around the Temple. _While you are busy playing at turning the Exile's lover, I have been doing actual work to forward our cause._

"_As though what I am doing does not?" _came Lirik's reply.

Lanik smirked. _Turning him to our side, while no doubt fun for you—_

"_Oh, it is terribly fun. Just tonight, I had the pleasure of causing the poor bastard to take a rather nasty spill and have only just now finished watching the Exile put him back together again. Oh, the screams, dear brother. I am surprised, actually, that you did not hear them from all the way over there and compliment me on my work at once."_

Lanik's smirk turned into a smile, despite himself. _You are using Darth Tyrantt's methods?_

"_Of course. He was the best instructor we had in the art."_

_Until you killed him, _Lanik reminded his brother, his smile dying a swift death. _Such a waste. _

"_He mocked me once too many times," _Lirik said petulantly. _"But enough of that ancient history, tell me your news. Did you make the report to Master?"  
I did, _Lanik replied, stepping over the outstretched legs of a vagrant lying on the street. _Master was not too pleased to learn that you consider yourself too weak to kill the Exile, but I managed to convince him that it was in our best interests to destroy the entire burgeoning Jedi council in one, swift, terrible moment. I told Master that killing the Exile on Manaan would only make Bastila nervous and security tighter and—_

"_Ramble, ramble, blather, blather!" _Lirik cut in with a nervous laugh. _"Was Master angry or no? That's all I care about."_

_As well you should, considering it is your failing that would cause the count ire. But no, he understood after I had sufficiently explained to him the new strategy. I believe you owe me a thank you._

Lanik felt his brother snort—a bizarre, fluttering sensation in his mind underscoring a current of derision. _"Oh, I'll thank you, all right, but I prefer to perform such acts of brotherly love in person…with my lightsaber," _he said snidely. _" Now, you said you had news, so please share it before I use this communication to help me get some sleep. It's been a rather eventful day, you know."_

Lanik heaved a sigh of the long-suffering variety. He knew his brother well enough to know when Lirik, flush from his latest torturing exploit, was too excited and worked up to pay close attention, and Lanik needed his attention, for he did indeed have news—news that Lirik was not going to like at all. This brought a smile to Lanik's face, which an attractive woman walking past him returned with a wink. Lanik hardly noticed.

_Darth Tertius is readying to come to Coruscant._

"_Yawn, brother. Please tell me something I haven't already known for the past three days."_

_All right, then. Who do you think is going to accompany them?_

Lanik felt more than heard Lirik's scorn. _"Why does anyone need to accompany them, and, more to the point, who cares?"_

Yes, Lirik was in high spirits and Lanik almost felt a twinge of guilt for what he was about to say, knowing that it would crush the sadistic happiness right out of him. _Darth Tertius needs a handler, of sorts, to accompany them wherever they go. They are more machine than anything else anymore and require someone to maintain them, so to speak. _

"_Someone to turn them on and off, you mean."_

Lanik ignored the comment and continued. _I had thought Master himself would come, but he is busy with other matters._

"_Well, then…who?" _Lirik demanded.

Lanik paused to admire his reflection in a storefront window. _Jude Gracus, _he said.

There was a silence in his mind and then a flurry of random thoughts and swearing accompanied by an intense ribbon of hatred that bridged the distance from Manaan to Coruscant in a hearbeat.

_Now, now, don't throw a tantrum, Lirik, _Lanik thought, resuming his leisurely walk. _And don't kick the bedpost, you great baby. I know you did, I can feel my toe tingling. _Lanik could just picture his brother hopping around his room on one foot, swearing profusely enough to impress a Gamorrean, and his lazy smile widened.

Finally, Lirik, his good humor evaporated, demanded, _"Why in the hell does it have to be her that comes to Coruscant? What? Does Master intend for her to fuck all the Jedis to death?"_

_Now, now, _Lanik chided. _The only fucking Jude is going to do will be with me. But really, Lirik, tear your mind out of the gutter for one brief moment, will you? Jude is a computer genius and I agree with Master that she is perfectly suited to handle Darth Tertius. In fact, _Lanik added, admiring his own deviousness, _I suggested it to the count myself._

"_Of course you did," _Lirik replied and Lanik detected a note of defeat in his twin's tone. _"I wonder sometimes, if you were born for no other reason than to torment me. You know how I hate that whor—"_

_Watch your language regarding my intended, _Lanik admonished with a laugh. Lirik detested Jude Gracus and never missed and opportunity to berate her for her proclivities—something Lanik found highly amusing. Lirik, he knew, only did so because of all the men Jude Gracus took to her bed, Lirik Thrakill was not, and had never been, one of them.

Lirik snorted again. _"Your intended," _he scoffed. _"There are half a hundred men who could say the same. But have you considered, Lanik, how your dear little Jedi woman is going to take it when Jude arrives, clawing at you and in heat like the bitch that she is?"_

Lanik sighed. _Fool, Lirik. Jude is accompanying Darth Tertius on the attack of Coruscant. Use your head. If Bastila meets Jude at all, it will be on the end of Jude's 'saber._

That shut Lirik up but only for a moment. Lanik felt his brother begin to reply, when suddenly, a vagrant stepped out of the deepening shadows at night and accosted him, driving him into an alley.

"Pretty stone, Jedi," the man growled, and before Lanik knew what was happening, the man had wrenched his blood-red amulet from his neck.

Lanik cut his communication with his brother and regained his senses. The vagrant was a large man, filthy and desperate, with a glazed look in his eye and whiskey on his breath that likely bought him the courage to attack a Jedi. He groped at Lanik and took a heavy, slow swing at him with one meaty fist, that the dark Jedi dodged easily.

Lanik didn't waste his time or energy drawing his lightsaber but called upon the Force. The vagrant's lopsided smile faded and his hands went to his throat, clawing at the unseen power that choked him. Lanik snatched his amulet from the man. He saw with annoyance that its delicate silver chain was broken. He channeled more of the Force and watched with satisfaction as the man's face turned first blue and then purple, and then finally he collapsed at Lanik's feet, just as Dustil Onasi rounded the corner.

Dustil watched as a vagrant jumped from the shadows and flew at Lanik. Both men disappeared from sight into an alley. He drew his lightsaber and ignited the blue blade, while running to Lanik's aid. He rounded the corner, ready to fight if need be, but stopped short. The vagrant was lying face down, dead, but Dustil hardly noticed. His attentions were wholly on Lanik Thrakill and Dustil could hardly believe what he was sensing.

Lanik, the kind, thoughtful Jedi Master he had known was gone, or rather, the _mask_ of the kind, thoughtful Jedi Master was stripped away, and what was left made Dustil recoil in horror. "Dark Jedi," Dustil breathed, gripping his lightsaber tightly in trembling hands. The shock of his discovery was making him panicky, and he tried quickly to center himself.

Lanik regarded Dustil with annoyance, as though the young man were a gnat come to pester him. "Oh, bother," he muttered and reached out his hand. Before Dustil could react, his lightsaber was torn from his hands and sent skittering into the darkness of the alley. "You should have run," Lanik told him in a lazy, matter-of-fact manner and then Dustil felt a whoosh of energy pick him up and drive him against the wall of one of the buildings that formed the alley.

His head cracked against the hard durasteel and he slid to the ground in a haze of pain. Lanik's shadow fell over him and he felt himself being hauled to his feet by the collar of his robes. His bleary eyes met Lanik's and Dustil saw, for the first time, the emptiness of them.

"Don't look at me like that," Lanik seethed with sudden anger and slammed his elbow across Dustil's face. Blood smattered as Dustil's nose cracked and he felt his world go dim for a moment.

"You…will not…succeed," Dustil said, earning himself another blow to the face, this one driving his head against the wall. He heard a sickening crack and wave of pain radiated from his skull and down his spine.

Everything went black but Dustil forced himself to consciousness. He tried to scream through the Force, to warn the others, but Lanik stopped him with a jolt of Force shock that sent Dustil into convulsions. He writhed on the ground for a moment and desperately tried to summon the Force, this time for himself, to defend against the dark Jedi, but Lanik was far more powerful than he. Dustil felt unseen hands close around his throat and begin to squeeze…

"Stupid boy," Lanik remarked, his hand outstretched, choking the life out of Dustil with the Force. He watched in satisfaction as the younger man struggled pitifully at his feet, unable even to gasp. Lanik knew he should crush the young man's windpipe and been done with it, but he was angry that he had been discovered the Onasi brat and so took his time, reveling in the suffering he was causing.

But the scuffle in the alley had drawn attention and Lanik heard, suddenly, the thundering of booted footsteps coming towards him. He increased the pressure of the power but he was distracted now by the approaching threat. With a snarl, he released Dustil and dashed down the alley. Lanik scaled the back wall and vanished into the shadows, as though he had never been.

Dustil lay on the ground, unmoving, waiting for help to come.

But none did.

The footsteps that had driven Lanik away were not coming to him, but fading into the sounds of the street.

Dustil tried to move, but his body was made of lead and his vision has spotted with frightening black spots that were growing with alarming speed. _Sith! They are here… _he thought, trying to warn whoever might be listening through the Force. But his strength was leaking out of him as surely as was his blood and he ceased his calls and sank into oblivion, alone and hidden by the shadows of night.

* * *

**Notes to Reviewers**: This chapter, I must be frank, was a pain in my ass. Sorry for the delay in the update. Next week might not be much better since I am going out of town on Thurs, so I'll try to get 29 up before, but it's not likely. Anyhoo, hoped you liked it. 

To **qt3.14159: **Yeah, I liked that turbolift line too. Atton's a funny bastard when he's not having his limbs nearly torn off. Thanks for the kind review too. Getting the characters' personalities down right is always the biggest thing I shoot for so I'm glad you think Atton is Atton.

To **demonessjo:** You could NEVER annoy me! Your reviews are wonderful and not because they are long, necessarily, but because of their content. I'm glad you liked the lesson in pain. I really enjoyed writing that and I'm excited it had you pondering. Hopefully the other two lessons will do the same. Sooo, you no likey Bastila, eh? That's all right, neither do I, really. This whole chapter was going to be with her and Lanik and that's why it gave me such a hard time because I realized it wasn't _supposed_ to be about her right now. She's gonna get her own plate o' crap to deal with soon so she can just chill for now. :) Canon, eh? (shivers) Now there's a word I'll never get sick of hearing. Thank you.

To **Amoinete:** New reviewer! Yay! Thanks for taking the time to drop a line. Yes, Lirik is going to get his, but I think he is too wily right now to get caught just yet.Thank you again and I'm glad you like the story.

To **Lunatic Pandora:** Nope, Atton didn't lose his arm, he just misplaced it for a little while. ;) I've had dislocated joints before and let me just tell you, you do wish that someone would just hack it off, but he managed to hold on to his and not go the way of Bao-Dur. And yep, Atton remembers being a bad boy veeerry well. Once Lirik completes his lessons, Atton will remember even better.

To **Miss Becky:** (scoops a serving of angst onto **Miss Becky's** plate) Is that enough? You want seconds, don't you? Meeeee tooooo. I wrote Atton's scene from Dane's POV and it was booorrring. So I redid it. I hope it's angsty enough, for ya.(hugs) I am so glad you think I am doing HK-47 right because of all the characters, he's the one I'm always thinking, "Is that HK-ey enough, or no?" Tossing the word "meatbag" into every other sentence doesn't cut it so I'm relieved he comes across okay. As always, thank you for letting me ramble about this fic (and certain other projects). You're the best.

To **Zorore:** New reviewer! How exciting. Thanks for the review though I KNOW you didn't mean that you wanted Atton to suffer, right? Well, Lirik's not done yet, so you may get your wish. :) Thanks again.

To **Kuramas Girl Angel:** I am shocked, shocked I tell you, at such violent notions as you exhibited in your review! Ok, not really. You're still the sweetest. Thanks for the review and sorry this update took some time.

To **LuvsDelkoSpeed:** First of all, I laughed my ass off reading your review. You are hilarious and your energy kicks butt. "I hear ya Dane!" I nearly fell out of my chair. Yes, she and Atton were very...expressive... last chapter but that's cause they ain't getting none later on. Well, never say never.Dane says you can't borrow Atton just yet, but that's because she's feeling ultra-protective right now. She'll come around. Thanks so much and I'm SO glad you're reviewing.

To **gekkeiju**:I really am relieved, as I said earlier, to know that the characters are coming across well. Thanks for letting me know it's working so far and tell me when it doesn't. Thank you!

To **Revan's Pet Duck:** I am really trying to keep the chapters not _overly_ long but man, I just can't shut up sometimes. And now my schedule is all screwy. Oh well. We are nearing the end, don't you know, so maybe I'm_ trying_ to slow it down. :(

To **Asuka-Kazama-Mishima-Doo san:** New reviewer, yay! Ok, but you have some questions. Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up. (wink) Atton is not, in my humble opinion, in the same league as Raff, but hey, to each his own. Right, so, Bao-Dur died in Chap 1. Mission hooked up with Dustil in Chap 26. Leigh died in Chap 22. Pay attention, there will be a quiz later.:) Thank you for the review!

To **Kathleen:** New reviewer, yay! Thanks so much for the kind words. Yeah, I do a lot of character development in lieu of, you know, a plot. Heehee. But really, I'm so glad you're enjoying it. And you find it off **Miss Becky's** site, eh? She is just the gift that keeps on giving. :)

Thanks to all you who are reading ( I see you on my hit counter, you little sneaky devils). Up next...Bastila and Carth wonder where in the heck is Dustil? And Lirik might just begin lesson 2...And you guys can play a new game called Count the Ellipses. Sheesh! They're my newest thing and I can't stop with them...You see...? There I go again! Whydoesthissitebunchthewordstogethersometimes?


	29. Nightmares

_**Author's Note:** This sucker is loooong, I'm not kidding. So if you like it short and sweet, so sorry, but I had a lot of ground to cover. Enjoy._

* * *

**Chapter 29**

**Nightmares**

_"Fear._

_"Fear is the second step of my methodology for effectively turning your target to the dark side._

"_It is appropriate that fear follows pain, for pain lays the foundation for this next step. You will have noticed that after applying pain, your target is now fearful for its return and remembers the agonizing incident with tremendous trepidation. It is, therefore, natural that fear is the next rung on the ladder that descends down into the glory of the dark side._

_"Aside from its natural affinity with pain, why does fear work? How does its application maneuver your target closer to your ultimate goal? Simple. A being who is in fear, who is terrified or plagued with remembered horrors, has no reach. He ceases to function in broad strokes, but recoils from rational action, from straightforward decisions, and his determination and will are effectively reduced. In short, he is a victim, and behaves as such. The target, in fear, will not view situations as things he has control over, but as possible threats. In essence, your target becomes a spiritual recluse, shying away from that which makes him strong as a being. You will find that when your target is in this state, every other manipulation you have in store for him is that much easier to accomplish. _

_"How does one apply fear? Again, as with pain, the methodologies are as numerous as your imagination allows. However, the blatant use of the Force—inducing Terror—while wonderfully effective in the short term, may not be suitable for those of you who require stealth and concealment. The solution is so simple, it may escape you upon first examination. _

"_Nightmares. _

"_Do not scoff, my pupils, for nightmares, while seemingly base and childish, are extraordinarily effective when one is attempting to bring about the state of fear in one's target. With ingenuity, imagination, and cleverness, you can, through nightmares, pummel your target's psyche into a flaccid pulp. (The lack of restful sleep because of relentless, consistent terrors, is an additional bonus.)_

"_The exact application of this technique does, unfortunately, require tremendous concentration and fortitude—and lack of one's own sleep— as well. If undertaken by a lazy or inconstant Sith, the result will be an inconstant state of fear for your target. Only total and utter horror, delivered nightly, will bring about the best results, I assure you…"_

Lirik examined himself in the mirror of the refresher in his small room. His extraordinary good looks never failed to bring a smile of contentment to his lips. _I look positively cherubic,_ Lirik thought, running a hand over his newly shaven skin. _How could anyone suspect that face? _He smiled broadly and his blue eyes sparkled with anticipation as he recalled his old master's lecture. _That was probably my last full night's sleep,_ he thought with a sigh, though in truth, he welcomed the challenge.

"Atton, Atton, Atton," Lirik chided, and made a 'tsk tsk' sound with his teeth. "I almost feel sorry for you." He laughed loudly until a knocking at his door made him swallow his mirth abruptly. He watched in the mirror as his smiling visage was replaced by one of pure and total guilt. _Now,_ _looking like that I'd even suspect me. _Lirik smoothed his features, plastered on a warm smile and went to open the door, for he knew the Exile had come to see him.

He'd been expecting it and was well rehearsed. _Turning the pilot to the dark side is not the only game I can play. _He activated the door for Dane Koren.

"I hope I am not disturbing you," she said, though Lirik couldn't detect a trace of that sentiment in either her tone or her face. On the contrary, she stepped inside his room without being asked and stood with her hands crossed over her chest. Her lightsaber, Lirik noticed, was tucked into her belt, readily at hand.

"Not all, Master Koren," Lirik said, bowing low and shutting the door behind her. "Please, make yourself comfortable." He indicated that she should sit in one of the room's only two chairs but she ignored him.

"I am here," she said, her tone still chilly and only slightly cordial, "because I feel as though we have not properly gotten to know one another. Events of the last few days have precluded a formal meeting and I would like to remedy that."

_Uppity bitch. She talks like Lanik_, Lirik thought, and smiled brightly. "I would like nothing more. In fact, I was thinking to myself just yester—"

"Good," Dane said, and sat down in the chair. "I apologize for my curtness, but last night was rather trying. I'm sure you understand," she said slowly and Lirik saw instantly she was watching his reaction carefully.

"Yes, that must have been awful for you," Lirik began, deciding he truly couldn't begin a conversation that was going to consist largely of a tremendous amount of bowing and scraping on his part without first jabbing a knife or two at her first. "I thought," he continued, watching with pleasure as her face darkened, "that we were going to lose him."

Dane shifted in her seat but kept her tone even. "Yes, well that's over now. However, there are some questions I had for you regarding this accident. I—"

"Oh, it was terrible," Lirik said and rubbed his eyes at the memory—a precaution should his merriment be revealed in them. "If it hadn't been for Macen, I don't know what would have happened."

"What do you mean?"

Lirik looked at her. "Didn't you know? Why, Macen was the brave, quick thinking one who dove into that turbulent water and pulled Atton out. Without hesitation. Without thought to his own safety. If you don't mind my saying, you are truly fortunate to have a friend like him."

Lirik watched as his words had the desired effect—Dane's expression softened and a small smile touched her lips. But she seemed to remind herself that her business was not concluded and Lirik cursed that he wasn't going to get off so easy. "What happened after that, Lirik? Where did that stim come from?"

Lirik shrugged. "I don't know Manaan well enough to say, Master Koren," he said placidly. "Perhaps you should ask Atton."

Dane frowned. "I have and he remembers nothing of the accident…nothing substantial anyway."

_Thank the gods for small favors, _Lirik thought. "How is he, by the way?" _All his limbs back in the right place? _

"He's fine," Dane said quickly. "Well, not exactly, but he'll be all right."

"I'm so glad," Lirik said and heaved a gusty sigh. "Master Koren, I think you may have be wondering why I disappeared on you after we took Atton to the med facility."

"It did cross my mind," Dane said.

Lirik killed the smart remark that came instantly to his lips and he reminded himself that this woman was one of the most powerful Jedi he had encountered in a long time. _Play nice or she'll lop your head off,_ he thought. He didn't mind admitting his weakness in comparison to her power—he had other strengths…

"The reason, Master Koren, is simple. I was ashamed. It was Macen who acted quickly while I was shocked into dumbness. It was Jolee who knew what needed to be done to reset Atton's shoulder, and it was the two of you whose healing powers with the Force speeded his recovery. How could I, after all of that, show my face to you? Never mind the obvious suspicion and anger you must feel towards me for being with Atton when it happened," Lirik said. It was an easy tactic, one he had learned a long time ago—to bring up his opponents arguments before they could and thereby deflate them. He watched as his words did exactly that.

Dane sighed. "I admit, I was…cautious, but it was only because you seemed such a stranger to me. You _are _a stranger to me, Lirik, and I wonder why."

Lirik, prepared for this too, nodded his head and affected a troubled expression. "I know. It doesn't surprise me, though I regret it. My childhood, my brother's and mine, was not a happy one. I learned a long time ago how to protect myself and even after I had become a Jedi, I find it difficult to trust others." Lirik watched her closely. "Forgive me, Master Koren, but I had thought I was here merely to escort you to Coruscant—to serve as a guard of sorts, on your journey. I didn't realize I was supposed to be your friend as well."

Lirik knew he was treading thin ice with that comment, but he also knew he would draw suspicion were he to come across as wholly contrite and submissive. _And I am certainly not your friend, Jedi schutta. _

Yet he breathed a small sigh of relief when Dane said, "Fair enough." She rose from her chair and headed for the door. "Thank you for your service, Lirik. It is appreciated. We leave for Coruscant as soon as Atton is well enough. I shall see you then," she said.

_That was easy. _Lirik bowed. "Don't hesitate to call upon me should you need anything else."

Dane nodded once, curtly, and was gone.

After the door slid shut Lirik cackled, ignoring the fact that his hands were shaking. He lit a cigarra and threw himself unceremoniously onto the bed. He blew three expert smoke rings, one after the other, and congratulated himself on his triumph. _She doesn't know a damn thing. She doesn't like me either, but hey—the feeling's mutual. _

Lirik chuckled to himself and then spent the better part of the next hour dreaming up the most horrifying images and scenarios his twisted mind could devise.

"Atton Rand, it's time for Lesson Two," he chuckled again.

It wasn't until he had come up with what he thought was a suitably horrible nightmare to lay on the pilot that night, and was on the verge of nodding off to sleep, that he realized the hole in his plans.

Cursing his carelessness, Lirik raced out of his room and straight toward the cantina…

* * *

Dane walked down the corridor of the hotel and around the corner where Jolee and HK-47 were waiting, neither one of them appearing pleased to be sharing one another's company. 

"Statement: It has not escaped my notice that that was a very short interview," HK-47 said to Dane. "Hopeful Query: Did you simply kill him?"

"No, HK."

"Query: Would you like me to?"

"Shut up, you rusted bucket of circuits," Jolee snapped. He looked at Dane. "Well?"

Dane sighed. "I don't know. I can't read him and I was alone for so many years, I haven't the facility to determine if he is lying or not."

"Were his lips moving?" Jolee asked snidely.

She looked at him, her head cocked. "You think he's no good, Jolee?"

"I got a gut feeling that he's not all he's cracked up to be. You want to read him? Read him from in here—" he jabbed his stomach—"and that'll tell you."

Dane shook her head. "He was with Atton when he crashed. Beyond that, there is nothing I can concretely lay at his feet. Still," she added, answering Jolee's dark look, "HK, I would like for you to stay with Atton at all times. He is resting now; you may stand guard at our door."

"Delighted Reply: Certainly, Master. And if any meatbag comes near, I shall dispatch of him—"  
"You will do no such thing," Dane cut him off. "You will defend only when absolutely necessary, and even then, you shall use only the barest minimum force that is required."

"Statement: You'd be surprised at the number of times blowing a meatbag's head off turned out to be the 'barest minimum force required,'" HK-47 muttered.

Dane pretended she hadn't heard that. She had given the droid an order and he was bound to obey it. She turned to Jolee. "I am ready for today's work, and then I need to find Macen and thank him," she said. She held up a hand before he could protest. "I know what you are going to say, but whatever suspicions I have about Lirik, I do not share them regarding Macen."

Jolee grunted.

"He didn't have to do what he did," Dane reasoned. "If he had any ill intentions, he would have let Atton drown, but he did not. That is worth quite a lot to me."

Jolee grunted again. "Fine, fine, we'll work and then you can go and be grateful. Just remember, I've been around a lot longer than you, missy, and—"

"And please remember what I told you of how Macen helped me on the barge. I know him, Jolee. He is a good man and does not deserve our suspicion."

Dane could see the old man wanted to say more, but something in her expression must have changed his mind, for he only muttered unintelligibly under his breath. "Well," he said, louder, "I'm glad you got sense enough in that fool head of yours to at least want to keep an eye on Lirik."

Dane made to reply but HK-47 interrupted.

"Observation: I fail to understand why you meatbags simply don't exterminate those that cause you vexation and grief."

"Because, you ignorant tub of bolts, murder is no way to solve problems," Jolee replied..

"Resigned Statement: Perhaps," HK said, moving to take up his post at Dane's door, "but you know where to find me if you change your mind."

* * *

Atton awoke feeling as though he had been run over by a herd of bantha—twice. 

His body felt heavy and terribly weak; just sitting up was an effort. He glanced over at Dane's side of the bed and saw that it was empty. It took him a moment to remember that she had kissed him awake awhile ago, saying she had things to do, and then had slipped out of the room as he sank back into sleep. He remembered, too, her saying something about how he should stay in bed and rest, but now Atton disagreed. He didn't admit it, not aloud or even to himself, but he felt afraid and more than a little helpless. In his days as a Sith, injured personnel were left for dead. _You either found the strength to continue or you were dog meat. No thanks, not me. _

And so Atton sat up, carefully, slowly. That accomplished, he thought he'd give standing a go and regretted it instantly. A wave of dizziness crashed over him and he fought the urge to vomit. He took several steadying breaths. _Damn, I need water. _The thought brought a torrent of images to his mind—images of too much water trying to crush the life out of him—but he banished them, along with every other hazy memory of the last night.

He glanced down at the bandage over the left side of his chest, wondering briefly what was under it. _Save that for later, _he thought grimly and forced himself to stand. The refresher seemed far away and Atton wondered when Dane had found the time to move them to a bigger room. He crossed the distance without incident but leaned heavily on the sink. Atton turned on the water and carefully—for his right shoulder felt stiff, as though it were bound in permacrete—scooped handfuls into his mouth. He splashed some over his face as well and then looked up into the mirror.

The face staring back at him looked to be only an imitation of his own and a poorly done one at that. His eyes were bleary and bloodshot, and the skin under them dark and mottled with bruises. His nose was caked with dried blood and he found more under his chin. His skin was pale and he looked thinner somehow, too—his cheekbones stood out more than usual, giving him a gaunt appearance.

"Lookin' good, Rand," he muttered and splashed more water before reaching for the towel. He dabbed the blood off his face, but the dark splotches under his eyes were the most disturbing and so he called on the Force. Instantly, the bruising lightened, though it didn't fade, and he felt slightly stronger.

_I have got to start practicing or meditating or something to learn to heal better, _he thought. _I look like an albino Rodian after a three day bender. _

He stumbled his way back to the bed and sat down hard. The movement caused a dull ache in his chest and he hazarded a peak under the bandages. A row of silver stitching set in puffy and red skin curved under his ribcage. _When did I get cut? _he wondered, and then remembered what Dane had told him this morning. _I'll just tell people I was bit by a firaxa,_ he thought, trying for levity, but he shivered involuntarily and again, pushed the memories away.

"Now what do I do?" he mused aloud to no one. Sitting around, waiting for flashbacks to jump him was not high on his list but Manaan, he had learned early, was a rather dull place. _But I have to _do _something and swoop racing is definitely out. _He spied his clothes in a pile near the door and was made weary just thinking of the effort it would take to put them on. He was about to give up and do as Dane told himand just rest, but something caught his eye. Sticking out of a pocket of his ribbed jacket, Atton could see the corner of his Pazaak deck.

"That's exactly what I need," he said. "Play a little Pazaak and then call it a day."

Atton got dressed and wondered dryly if it was still morning by the time he had finished. He gingerly pulled his jacket on and inspected himself once more in the mirror. "Oh yeah, you're going to be beating them off with a stick," he muttered and barked a harsh laugh. "That's all right, Dane still loves me. I hope. Maybe not. Maybe she left this morning because I scare her and she didn't say anything 'cause she's just trying to be polite." He regarded himself in the mirror.

"Or maybe it's because you can't stop talking to yourself."

Atton activated the door and stepped outside into the hallway. HK-47 was standing at attention, his disruptor carbine clutched securely in his hands. Atton peered at him. HK-47 peered back.

"What are you doing here?" Atton asked.

"Reply: Master Koren has instructed that I stay with you at all times."

_My angel, _Atton thought. Aloud, he said, "What's wrong? Who we fighting now?"

"Statement: I am uncertain. Master Koren and the old meatbag seemed to believe the young Jedi is a possible threat."

Atton snorted. "Lirik? Why? _Macen_, maybe," he added darkly.

"Statement: A meatbag is a meatbag, as the saying goes. Proposal: You tell me who to terminate, Master Jaq and I will do so…It makes not one bit of difference to me."

"I'm well aware," Atton said darkly. "And stop calling me 'Jaq.'"

The cantina was thousands of miles away to Atton's thinking and by the time he and HK-47 arrived, he fairly collapsed into the only empty Pazaak table. The cantina was busy, the raging storm outside kept Manaan's visitors inside to wile away the afternoon with drink and card games. Atton had a challenger in no time and he quickly relieved the inept Sullustan of seventy-five credits in less than fifteen minutes.

"Observation: You seem quite skilled at this game of chance, Master Jaq," HK commented from behind him. "Suggestion: If you should ever find yourself short of meatbag currency, I would hope you would consider this game as a means of support, as opposed to, oh, I don't know…swoop racing."

"Har, har, android," Atton muttered, scooping his winnings into a pile. "And don't call me 'Jaq.'"

He glanced around to see if there was another potential opponent nearby when Lirik Thrakill streaked into the room, heading straight for the bartender. The Jedi spotted Atton and HK-47 and made an abrupt change of direction to join them, a momentary expression of irritation flitting across his features.

"Atton! By the Force, this is a surprise!" Lirik exclaimed. He gave HK-47 a wary glance before sitting across from Atton. "That was quite the spill you had. I thought you'd be laid up for a week. How's the shoulder?"

Atton shuffled his side deck. "Well, it's in the right place, so I've got that going for me."

Lirik gave a low whistle. "Whew! I'm telling you." He leaned forward and said in a subdued tone, "Listen, I didn't want to say anything in front of Dane since she likes the guy—_a lot_—but I wouldn't, if I were you, borrow Macen's bike again any time soon. Or anything else of his, for that matter."

"Oh yeah?" Atton asked, trying to keep his voice noncommittal. "Why is that?" _I don't remember borrowing it in the first place—or much else for that matter. _

Lirik shrugged. "I don't know, call it a hunch, or intuition, or the Force or some junk like that, but I just don't trust that guy."

Atton leaned forward. "You know, me neither. I don't like him. I don't like how he looks at Dane—"

"You've noticed that too?" Lirik breathed a sigh of relief. "Man, I thought it was just me. He looks at her like…I don't know. Like he knows something about her that no one else does. It's probably just my imagination, but if she were my woman, I wouldn't let her near him. Say, you want a drink?"

Atton, on any other day after having a near-fatal accident would have declined, but Lirik's observations about Macen were near mirrors of his own. He thought that would make him feel better—less paranoid, perhaps—but the fact that it was Lirik who shared them wasn't terribly comforting. _Like Macen is on one side and I'm on the other, but I don't know that I want Lirik with me. _

The other Jedi was waiting for a reply to his question and Atton said, without thinking, "Sure. Why not?"

Lirik slapped the table heartily. "That's right, why not? We have to celebrate your victory over death, my friend. After last night, the fact that weren't rendered a complete vegetable either is worth a round, don't you think?" he asked and spun around in his chair to hail a waitress.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks…I think," Atton muttered.

HK-47 bent stiffly to say in Atton's ear, "Statement: It was Master Koren who ordered me to protect you and now I feel it is my duty to protect you _from _Master Koren. Observation: From what I know of her, Master Jaq, I suspect she will not share your sentiments with regards to the consumption of alcoholic libations at this particular time."

Lirik spun back around and snorted. "Does it have an 'off' switch?" he laughed and glanced up at HK. "Lighten up, droid. She's not his mother, right?" He laughed again and then cocked his head to one side. "Say, why did he call you 'Jaq?'"

"Because it is physically impossible for him to do what I tell him to do," Atton muttered, shooting HK a dirty look. "It's nothing," he told Lirik. "Forget it."

The Jedi nodded, a slow smile spreading over his lips. "We all have our secrets, don't we?" he asked, and then returned to trying to get the attention of the cantina's lone—and overworked—waitress. He succeeded and after a few choice, flattering words, the girl went to the bar and returned to lay two whiskeys in front of them.

"Thank you, sweeting," Lirik told her, flashing a charming smile.

"Sure thing," the girl replied with a wink for him and a slightly disturbed glance for Atton before sauntering off.

"I look like hell, don't I?" Atton asked. _I _feel _like hell. Why am I still here? _He twisted his whiskey glass around and around but the thought of drinking it now made him nauseous.

"Won't disagree with you there," Lirik chuckled, downing his own glass in one draught. "You look like you got socked in the face by a Gamorrean, one-two." He played at boxing, throwing a right and a left at Atton.

_This guy is cracked. I don't know if I should laugh or run for my life. _"Yeah, well, I should go back to the room," Atton said. "I—"

"Wait," Lirik said, his voice low. He propped his chin on his fist and surreptitiously extended one finger, pointing to the front of the cantina.

Atton followed where Lirik indicated and saw Dane and Macen standing at the entrance. They were talking and both wore wide smiles. Atton's stomach did a slow roll and he swallowed hard. _Talk about nauseating, _he thought darkly. The moment his attention went to Dane she felt it, for he saw her pause in mid-sentence and look around. _Uh oh, _Atton thought. She spied him and an astonished look came over her features. She said something to Macen and the other man nodded and walked away. _Good. I hope he's going outside to play in the lightening, _Atton thought and then added, _but I'm in trouble now. _

Atton battled whether or not he was up for an argument about why he was drinking and playing cards no less than ten hours since having surgery. Fortunately, Lirik covered for him. As Dane approached, a stormy expression on her face, the Jedi snaked his hand across the table and pulled Atton's glass in front of him.

"Atton? What are you doing here?" Dane asked. Her stare was cool and went positively frigid when it landed on Lirik.

"Playing Pazaak," Atton said simply. "What are _you_ doing here?" he asked pointedly. Because of their Force bond, his meaning was clear and Dane sighed.

_I was thanking him for saving your life,_ she replied. She glanced down at the table. "You haven't been drinking, have you?"

Atton, acting on the rationale that if she could talk to Macen, he could drink himself into a stupor, opened his mouth to reply a defiant 'yes', when Lirik cut in. "Oh, no, Master Koren," he said. "This is all for me." He indicated the two glasses, both now empty. "As I have said, I am not a model Jedi and old habits die hard."

Dane pursed her lips together but said nothing. She looked to Atton, "Come on. It is too early for you to be out of bed."

Atton couldn't disagree there and he didn't have the strength to argue anyway. "Sure thing, babe," he muttered and gathered his cards. "See you around, Lirik," he said.

"Oh, you can be sure of that," Lirik replied with a crooked smile.

_What a weird guy, _Atton thought to himself and was surprised when Dane answered.

_I don't trust him, love, and I want you to stay away from him. _

Atton glanced down at her as they started out of the cantina. _Would you do the same if I asked you to stay away from Macen? Cause I don't trust him either. _

She stopped and looked up at him for although she was a tall woman, the top of her head barely came up to Atton's chin. Her eyes locked on his and he heard her words, strong and clear. _If I thought it would keep you safe, I would do anything you asked of me. _

All of the fight in him—and there wasn't much left—went out at her words. He smiled and bent to kiss her, wincing slightly at the pain in his shoulder and chest the little movement caused.

"Come, let's get you back to the room so that I may heal you better," she said.

"Oh yeah?" Atton asked. "You know, I think I heal much faster when you do it naked."

He chuckled as Dane's face went red. _So crass…, _she chided which only made him snicker more. She laced her arm through Atton's and steered him out of the cantina, HK-47 in tow.

Lirik watched the pair of them, disappointed that Atton hadn't thrown the fit the dark Jedi was hoping for. _Damn. Atton's too beaten to get very upset about Macen, but the seed has been planted, oh yes…_

Once Dane and Atton were a little ways ahead, he caught up to HK-47 and gave the droid a tug on the arm.

"Hey, droid, can I ask you something?"

"Statement: You just did." HK-47 tilted his head to regard Lirik's hand touching him. "Please remove your appendage from my arm apparatus and I will consider allowing a second query."

Lirik snatched his hand away. "Right, thanks. Listen, I was just curious. Why do you call Atton 'Jaq'?"

HK-47's photoreceptors glittered in the light of the cantina as lightening flashed dramatically outside the viewports.

"Reply: Because once, a long time ago, Master Jaq was an accomplished exterminator of meatbags. It is a past he is not proud of, though I have not been able to deduce why."

Lirik's eyes widened. "Atton was…what? An assassin?"

"Statement: Correct. A Sith assassin to be precise. From what little I have learned, his specialty was Jedis." The droid leaned menacingly close to Lirik. "Caution: Watch yourself, meatbag, lest Master Jaq come to his senses and return to his previous and, no doubt, more satisfying employ."

Lirik was speechless as HK-47 clanked after the other two. _Atton was a Sith? _He blew out a breath and ran a hand through his light brown hair. _I can't believe it…Oh, the possibilities…_ He could barely contain his joy at the revelation, one that was supplied bya droid that no doubt thought it was being protective and menacing. Lirik meandered to the bar, still pondering this discovery.

_Atton Rand was a Sith…No, not Atton. _Jaq_ Rand…_

"Hey," he called to the bartender. "Did I hear correctly that there is an old Sith base still on Manaan?" he asked, his smile nearly splitting his face.

"Yeah," the bartender replied darkly. "There's a restaurant in some of it, but yeah, it's still there."

"How awful," Lirik said brightly. "_Please_ tell me the Selkath have removed all of the horrible Sith equipment…computers…_databases_…"  
The bartender shrugged. "Don't think so. In fact, I know most of their stuff is still there, though I don't know why they don't just dump it in the ocean. Hurt the precious kolto I guess."

_Excellent…_

"Hey, you liked that stim from the other night? You want another one?"

Lirik shook his head. "No, but that reminds me." He indicated for the bartender to lean toward him as though he had confidential information to relay. He met the bartender's eyes with his own luminous ones. "You did not sell me any stim."

"I didn't sell you a stim," the bartender agreed, his own eyes becoming glassy.

"You sold a stim to the pilot," Lirik continued.

The bartender nodded. "I sold a stim to the pilot."

"You sold the stim to the pilot who had a bad accident last night."

"I sold it to the pilot. He had a bad accident last night."

Lirik nodded and patted the bartender on the forehead. "Well, done. I'll have a whiskey, please, and make it a double."

The bartender nodded and shook his head as though to clear it. "Uh, sure thing." He poured the drink and Lirik took it back to his table. He had just sat down when Jolee Bindo entered the cantina. _What astonishing timing, _Lirik thought. _This truly is shaping up to be a banner day for ole Lirik Thrakill. _

He watched, a pleased smile on his face, as Jolee went straight to the bartender. Lirik couldn't hear what was being said, but he could guess well enough, and so he spoke aloud, softly, what he imagined was being said at the bar.

"You sell any stims lately?" Lirik murmured, affecting a grim and dour tone for Jolee.

"Yes, I sold one to the pilot who had the accident last night," he spoke for the bartender in a robotic monotone, and then chuckled.

"Are you sure you didn't sell it to that devilishly handsome, young, dark Jedi?" Lirik asked in the 'Jolee voice.'

"I sold it to the pilot who had the accident last night," Lirik said, again in the monotone. He cackled at a Rodian at the next table who was watching him as though he'd grown a second head.

Lirik turned his gaze back to the bar watched as Jolee's shoulders slumped in disappointment and he waved an irritable hand at the bartender. The old Jedi turned around, a dark look on his features, and saw Lirik across the room.

_You can't touch me old man, _Lirik thought. All levity dropped from his tone and was replaced with cold, menacing hate. Jolee scowled at him and Lirik raised his glass to him in a mock toast of triumph in return. _You can't touch me at all…_

* * *

Bastila Shan awoke with a start. The nightmare had been a bad one, worse than the night previous…worse than the others she'd had over the past three nights and every one the same. In each of them, she is back on Malak's ship. He is torturing her, turning her ever so slowly to the dark side. But his words are not those of hate and depravity as they had been those long years ago. Now, they are words of love and promises of devotion, even as the pain wracks her body. Behind Malak, Bastila sees three shadowy figures, watching silently. Bastila is more afraid of them than she is of her torturer—it is always as the three figures begin to move, to advance towards her, does she wake with a cold sweat on her brow and a scream on her lips…as she did this morning. 

_What does this mean? _Bastila rubbed her slender shoulders, shivering even though her room was warm and comfortable. She wanted badly to dismiss the nightmares but her experiences with dreams during her time with Revan, and her general respect for the Force, prevented her from doing so. _There is danger,_ she thought, _but I can't yet see it. Those three figures…_ Bastila shivered again. _They must be the threat Revan warned us of…or they are connected somehow. I wish I knew…_

Bastila sighed and held her head in her hands. _I wish I knew, _she mocked her own thoughts for their impotence. _What has happened to me? I have lost my way._

For long months, since following the doings of the Exile, Bastila felt defeated and unsure of herself. Gone was the arrogant, self-possessed young woman who had guided Revan—as Arax Saraan—during their quest for the Star Maps. Gone was the young, headstrong Jedi Knight whose legendary ability saved lives by the thousands. In her place was a nervous, inconstant woman who could only watch as Dane Koren faced and defeated three powerful Sith lords alone.

_No, not alone. She had help, _Bastila amended and shame burned her cheeks. _Help she had to make for herself. _Bastila, Juhani—and Lanik, she admitted—and every other Force-adept in the known galaxy ran and hid. They hid from the mercenaries that came to hunt, each vying for a piece of the bounties set forth by the Exchange. _But that is not why we ran away, _Bastila knew. _We hid because we were afraid that the wound in the Force would be our undoing and so Dane made her own Jedis…_ It shamed Bastila that she had remained safely beside Carth Onasi while Dane fought and killed for a dead Council, one that had stripped her of everything and left her without the Force.

_They made her an exile. Dane had no debts to pay but she paid anyway. She has earned the right to lead the new Council, not I, _Bastila thought and rubbed her temples. _I did not help her when I could have because I was afraid, and not of the wound in the Force, but the wound in myself.…_

Bastila thought on her nightmares and her fear was given a face. Not Malak, or any of the Sith lords Dane Koren defeated. _No, I feared not the battle against them, but of a battle within myself I could not and cannot bear to wage again. I fell…_

_I fell. _

Those two words, so small and frail, were as lead weights around Bastila's heart and as ice in her veins.

She lay back on her pillows, remembering her time as Malak's apprentice. She saw herself clad in the black and gray robes of a dark Jedi. She heard her words of hate and corruption she spoke on that dusky afternoon, on the rooftop. She felt the heaviness of her red-bladed lightsaber in her hand as she taunted Revan on Malak's ship because Revan would not turn again. And Bastila heard too, her own pathetic pleas that she was beyond saving and worth nothing more than the long-ago victories, victories that had handed Revan her defeat. _That Revan did not kill me is a small miracle…or a regret, I don't know which for such a failing is not worthy of forgiveness. _The thought of what might have happened on Malak's ship because of her weakness haunted Bastila and she accepted the nightmares as pieces of that weakness, brought forth from the deep, dark place she had buried it.

Bastila wiped away a stray tear that coursed down her cheek and berated herself for her self-pity. _Whatever sins I have committed, they are to be faced bravely and without tears for I have no right to weep over what is lost. _But her thoughts were empty and without strength. _If only there was someone to talk to…_

Carth was the first name that came to mind, but she dismissed him immediately. He had his own problems and, while they were friends, Bastila balked at the notion of going to Carth for matters of the Force. _To him, Revan and the Force are nearly one and the same, and I shall not burden him further. _

_Juhani…_Another name dismissed as soon as she conceived it. Juhani had arrived the night previous, accompanied by her newest Padawan—a scholar named Mical. The Cathar seemed the likely choice given she had fallen herself, but Bastila knew what she would say. _Juhani would advise me to seek my answers in the Code and that would be the end. _Juhani was fiercely defensive of the Code, Bastila knew, because of her trespasses against it. _And, the Force forgive me, I need more than those words. _

Jolee Bindo's wise advice and intolerance for self-pity would have been as a breath of fresh air, but Dane had him on Manaan.

Her store of trusted friends exhausted, Bastila was left one person.

The Jedi Master quickly withdrew from her bed, showered, dressed, and then walked down the corridors of the Jedi Temple. She tried to keep her pace slow but as she saw Lanik Thrakill's door, she unconsciously picked up her step. But while she hurried to his door, Bastila hesitated before knocking on it.

_I will find no peace with him, _she thought, _only more uncertainty and conflict. _She let her hand fall away and was about to turn when the door slid open, startling her half to death.

"Bastila!" Lanik exclaimed, and she thought for a brief moment, that his eyes had been terribly cold and hard. He seemed out of sorts and preoccupied, but he smiled warmly at her.

"My pardons for the outburst," he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. "I was not expecting to see such a vision first thing this morning. How may I assist you?"

Bastila felt the blush creeping up her neck at his touch and she let her hand linger in his a moment longer than necessary. "No, it is I who should apologize for disturbing you," she said. "I'm sorry, I…" Her worlds trailed away for she truly did not know what she had wanted to say to him. _How foolish to burden him with my trivial problems. _She looked into his blue eyes that were watching her expectantly, hopefully, and she blushed again for there was still the matter of their own previous conversation to contend with.

"What is it?" Lanik asked softly, stepping closer to her. She could not look at him, but watched the rise and fall of his chest under his robes, and she suddenly longed to lean her head against that chest. _To be in a man's presence, to have his arms hold me, and feel safe and know that I am not alone, that is what I want, _Bastila thought and her loneliness threatened to cave her in.

"Bastila," Lanik murmured, tilting her chin up to look in her eyes. "Tell me."

But she could not. She could not meet his eyes and so she let her gaze fall…to the blood-red amulet hanging by a delicate silver chain around his neck.

"That is beautiful," she said, but as soon as she said the words, she realized they were not true, not entirely. The stone caught her attention but as she looked at it, she felt a shiver run down her spine. _It is like looking at a pool of blood. The color is rich but it is awful somehow too…_

_Gods, I'm a fool, _Lanik thought and with an abruptness that shattered the gentle aura they had created, stuffed the amulet down the front of his robes, out of sight. "It is a family heirloom," he said gruffly. "The only relic of my father's fortune that somehow escaped the pawn shops which funded his drinking habit. It is distasteful," he added, his eyes dark again, "but I wear it to remind me of what once was."

He studied her carefully to see if his lie had succeeded, but Bastila only nodded. "I'm sorry, I should go," she said finally. "There is still much to prepare for. Master Juhani is here and I must see Carth—"

"Don't do that," Lanik said, and sighed. She had bought the lie but now was insufferably contrite for having annoyed him. _This is going to be a long morning, _he thought. The events of the night before were still with him as well, and while he didn't lament killing the Onasi brat, the sudden disturbance in the perfect scene he had worked so hard to create rattled him. But he still had a job to do and so Lanik steeled himself for another round of soft words and understanding expressions. He was just thankful Lirik wasn't around to see it. _I would never hear the end of it. _Aloud he said, "I was rude and I apologize, but my past is not the stuff of pleasant conversation. I do not like to be reminded of it and I like less the idea of burdening you with its details. But please don't go. Please, tell me what troubles you, for I can't stand to see you like this."

Bastila glanced up at him. "Like what?" she asked softly.

"Suffering," he said. _Such a glorious word…_ "You came to my door for a reason, Bastila. I would hear it," he said and ventured to touch a stray lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek. "Or perhaps," he added, drawing her closer, "you don't wish to talk at all?"

Bastila nodded and at once was in his arms, her head against his chest. Lanik, surprised, almost took too long to wrap his arms around her. _This is not what I had in mind,_ he thought, but he understood then, why she had come to him. _This powerful Jedi Master…how pathetic. _

He stroked her hair and held her tightly for long moments until she finally pulled away and smiled at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She opened her mouth to speak when a Padawan, one of the handful that populated the near-empty Temple, rounded the corner. He cleared his throat politely and Bastila stepped away from Lanik.

"Yes, what is it?" she asked, her voice regaining the imperious tone Lanik heard her use around nearly everyone but him.

"My apologies, Master Shan, for the interruption, but Master Juhani is asking after you."

Lanik saw the fearful look in the Padawan's eyes, saw him struggle to catch his breath.

"What has happened?" Bastila asked, her own tone wary.

"Dustil Onasi is missing," the Padawan said. "He was supposed to have arrived last night. He never came."

Bastila trembled and Lanik felt the cold fear wash over her. She looked to him for commiseration and she nearly caught him smiling. "Let's not panic, he may turn up yet. He is an energetic young man and energetic young men do impulsive things sometimes." _Like having their heads bashed into walls…_

Bastila nodded. "Tell Master Juhani I will be right there." After the Padawan had bowed and left, she clutched at Lanik. "If something has happened to him…oh, Lanik, what am I going to tell Carth? He can't lose Dustil too. No, oh no…"

Lanik had never seen her so panicked. He drew her to him again and stroked her hair, muttering soothing words. Fear and grief radiated from her and he drank it in. "Bastila, calm yourself. There is nothing to tell Carth." _Not yet. _"Do not worry yourself over what has not yet come to pass."

Bastila withdrew from him and took several deep breaths. "You are right. I'm sorry, I don't know what is wrong with me. I have not been myself lately and now Dustil…"

Lanik smiled at her reassuringly. "He'll turn up." _…At the morgue,_ he added silently and hid his smile as they hurried down the corridors of the Jedi Temple.

* * *

**Notes to Reviewers:** I told ya it was long. But I am going out of town for a week and won't post 30 for a bit so I just started writing like a madwoman. Things are going to start moving quickly after this--I hope--and while I predicted 40 chapters total, it might be slightly longer than that. But not by much. Maybe. I don't know,I tend to be longwinded, in case you haven't noticed. 

It is late now and I have an early flight to catch so I'm not going to reply to each of you personally, but please know I thank you all for your feedback. I really appreciate it and it makes me happy to know you like this story.

Also, I haven't forgotten Dane's promise to Mission to visit her in the Hawk soooo...Up next: Dane seeks the council of an old friend, Atton's having trouble sleeping, Jolee does some espionage on Lirik, and Lanik learns never to leave a job unfinished.


	30. It's All Downhill from Here

**_Author's Note: Bits of nastiness in this one, couple more F-bombs and a s$#t or two. (Sorry, but I can't, in good conscious, bring myself to write the word 'scrag'.) They make me do it on the kotorfanmedia site, but I'm drawing the line! Enjoy..._**

**Chapter 30**

**It's all Downhill from Here…**

It was well after midnight and Dane huddled in the cowl of her robes, seeking shelter from the driving rain. The ramp to the ship's hold opened with a loud hissing of vents and a shuddering of steel coming to rest, neither of which Dane thought could be heard over the booming thunder and peals of lightning. Still, she crept into the _Ebon Hawk,_ suspecting its occupants were long asleep.

She was half right. Mission lay curled in a chair in the main hold and Dane had a pang of guilt for it seemed the Twi'lek had been waiting for the Exile to come. Zaalbar, however, was awake and pacing the confines of the ship in his long, striding gait. The Wookiee stopped when he saw her and cocked his head.

"I'm sorry we have been so long here," Dane said in a low voice so as not to wake Mission. "I know this must be trying for you and I promise we shall leave very soon."

Zaalbar grunted an assent. _"Bad weather," _he said. _"Too much water."_

"I agree," Dane said and offered a smile. "Soon, I promise." She looked down at Mission's sleeping form. "Was she waiting for me?"

Zaalbar nodded. _"She doesn't sleep well. She's afraid of the garage. She thinks someone is in there."_

"And you don't?"

The Wookiee shrugged. _"I searched every part of it and haven't seen anyone but she's sure of it."_

Dane smiled. "Well, that's why I came. I think I'll go investigate." She took a step toward the garage and then stopped. "Thank you, Zaalbar, for watching over the _Hawk._"

Zaalbar shrugged again. _"I go where she goes," _he gestured a huge, hairy paw at Mission, "_but I am happy to be of service."_

Dane thanked him again, wished him a good night, and then headed toward the garage. Even before she stepped into its dim confines, she could smell engine grease and a faint, musty odor of dust settling on metal. _And I can feel him. _Tears sprang to her eyes instantly and she thought with rising gladness that she was finally going to speak with her friend in waking hours and no longer in states of semi-consciousness and pain.

The garage was quiet but for the rain that pelted the _Hawk_ like little bullets. It was quiet, but there was a thickness to the air and Dane peered in the dark for him. _But I will not see him,_ came the sudden thought. Perhaps because of her keen attunement to the Force, Dane knew instantly how it would be, what the rules of this meeting would be and so she wasted no more time but set about abiding them. She ached to see his face, but she knew that was not to be and so she settled, willingly, for listening to his soft voice.

Dane went to the center of the garage and sat cross-legged on the floor. She closed her eyes and she would keep them shut tight, for that was a rule. Somehow she knew that if she succumbed to the temptation to open her eyes, he would not be there. She rested her hands easily on her knees, as though she were meditating. _And it is like meditating, for it is through the Force that he will come. _And he did.

After only a moment of quiet sitting, Dane heard a shuffling of booted footsteps, heard the hum of an arm that is not flesh but was a thrumming energy.

_I have been waiting for you, General._

Dane gave a half-laugh, half-sob, and fought the tremendous urge to open her eyes, for already that rule was proving difficult to obey.

"Hello, Bao-Dur," she whispered.

_Hello, General. _

She heard him move closer, heard him sit across from her. She thought that if she only just reached out her hand, she could touch him…but that was not allowed.

"I've missed you so much," Dane said, her throat tight. "Have you been here all the while?"

_No, General. I've been here and there… I think. That is curious. I can't remember where I have been_. _But I can see you, General. I've always been able to see you._

Dane smiled and brushed away a tear that slid down her cheek. "I wish I could see you. I wish I could see you very much. How is it you are here, that you can speak to me, now and those times before?"

_I don't know, General, but I don't question it. I'm afraid if I did, I would go away from you, and I don't want to do that. _

Dane's throat threatened to close on her. "You have been such a comfort to me…"

_Don't cry, General. I am always here for you._

Dane laughed ruefully and wiped her eyes, overcoming the terrific urge to peek at him from behind her hand. "It seems all I do lately is cry. Over you. Over Atton. _Especially_ over Atton. I worry about him so, and now, since the accident… Bao-Dur, do you know what happened to him?"

_No, General…_

"Because Mission senses you somehow and she said that she felt an urge—"

_No, General, it doesn't work that way. _

"What do you mean?"

There was a pause and Dane felt him shift.

_How shall I say this? What I am, it is not life, General, not as you can conceive of it. I am here with you, but I am also somewhere else. And sometimes I see things, bad things, like shadows growing tall against a wall. But they are insubstantial, as am I, and I don't know what they mean. _

"But, can you see what is happening? Did you know what was going to happen to Atton, and so you sent Mission…?"

_I don't know, General. I don't remember. I know you have many questions—I can tell by the look on your face. It is the one you would get, standing on the bridge of the _Firestar_ pondering what order to give next or what to make of some piece of data or another, for the past—my real life—is very clear to me. _

Dane could feel him smiling and then grow serious again.

_But I can't answer those questions. I can warn of feelings I have—if a shadow is drawing near. That is the way it was with Atton. I saw a shadow over him but beyond that… I don't have any answers. I can't change anything. I can't interfere. All I know is that I am with you, and that, frankly General, is good enough for me. _

Dane smiled. She had wanted to ask him about Lirik, or even Macen, but her disappointment that she could not was short-lived. _I can be more than content with just being with him,_ she told herself, and that was true enough.

"All right, my friend. The Force has given me this gift in you, and so I will not question it either."

She felt Bao-Dur stir and she knew that if she could look at his face, he would appear troubled.

"What is it?" she asked softly.

_Is Atton better now? Is he safe?_

"Yes," Dane said slowly. "Why?"

_Because, General, the shadow I saw over him… It is still there._

* * *

HK-47 gave Dane a nod as she approached hers and Atton's room. 

"Salutation: Good evening, Master Koren. Have you any meatbags you wish for me to exterminate for you?"

"No, HK," Dane said wearily and went to activate her door.

"A pity," the droid replied. "Statement: I do hope Master Jaq is feeling better."

Dane froze. "What's wrong with him?"

"Placating Response: Oh, nothing Master. A few moments ago my audioreceptors distinguished a rather loud scream. When I entered the chamber, however, there was only Master Jaq and his meatbag outer membrane—"

"It's called 'skin'," Dane said, disgusted.

"His _skin_," the droid corrected, "had taken on quite a bleached hue. But, he was otherwise unharmed."

"Thank you for the report," Dane said, deciding she had wasted more than enough time talking with the assassin unit.

"Delighted Response: My pleasure, Master Koren," HK said snidely.

Dane opened the door to hers and Atton's room hoping that HK was wrong, that the light would be out and she would find Atton sleeping peacefully in bed. Instead, the light in the refresher was on, and by the yellow slant it cast over the bed, Dane saw that it was empty.

Bao-Dur hadn't been able to say much about the shadows he saw over Atton, and the ambiguity and vagueness of his visions were almost worse than knowing the enemy or danger for what it was. Dane stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. A hoarse intake of breath from the refresher sounded. She slipped inside and looked in that direction.

Atton was standing at the sink—bracing himself against it, really, for he hand a hand on each side and his head hung between his arms. He wore only the soft sleeping pants and Dane could see he had taken off his bandage. He hadn't needed it, not after another bout of healing, but Dane could see the half-moon of silver stitches under his ribcage. His skin was bathed in sweat though he was shivering. Her panic subsided into a dull knot of fear and she took a step closer to him.

"Atton?"

His only response was a kind of grunt and he did not look up at her.

"What are you doing?" she asked, moving closer to him.

"I'm just…looking at something _real_," he replied. He took several deep breaths and then ran the water in the sink, dousing his face several times. He looked around at her. "Hiya sweets," he said and smiled thinly. "Where you been?"

"I went to see…Mission," Dane said. There was no reason to keep the knowledge of Bao-Dur's presence from him but just then she didn't want to take the time to explain. She wanted to know why he looked so haggard, why his eyes seemed so full of shadows. "Love, are you all right? Please, tell me…"

"It's nothing," Atton said, stepping past her, into the room. "It's stupid, really," he said, throwing himself on the bed. "I had a bad dream, is all." Dane watched him as he stared at the ceiling and the levity in his tone ebbed away. "Real bad, if you want to know the truth."

Dane went to the bed and sat down beside him. She thought she should be relieved, that it was something as small as that, but Atton looked pale and very unsettled. "Tell me. It has been said that talking about them helps…"

"Noooo," Atton said, and rubbed his eyes. "It's fine, babe. I'll get over it." He looked at her and smiled. "Maybe it's because you left me all alone in this big old bed," he said, and pulled her towards him. She stretched out beside him and he held her tightly, kissing the top of her head. "Sleep now, that's what I want to do. Sleep with no dreams," he said and yawned.

Dane said nothing more but settled next to him, snuggling close. She was still in her robes, but Atton had fallen asleep almost immediately and she did not want to wake him. Carefully, she stretched out her senses, trying to feel him through their bond. But it was a weak and tenuous bond still, and Dane felt nothing but the trailing remnants of unease in him from the dream.

_And it is a dream and nothing more. There is no reason why everything has to be something worse. _These were Dane's thoughts as she fell asleep. They were comforting, those thoughts, but they were far from true…

Dane woke with a start to Atton's ragged scream. She bolted up in bed, the Force called and ready to levy at their unseen attacker. But there was no one but Atton. He had scrambled from the bed and stood in the light cast by the refresher that they had not turned off, staring about, wild-eyed and breathing hard.

"Atton—?"

"Dammit to hell!" he swore in a strangled voice, and slammed his fist into the wall. "Wha…," he struggled for breath, "what the _fuck_ is going on?"

Dane slowly rose from the bed and took a step toward him, but he drew away from her touch to pace the room. "Atton, what is it? Another nightmare?"

"Yeah, Dane, it's another nightmare," Atton said dryly and with bitterness. He rubbed his shoulders for she could see he was broken out in gooseflesh even as a thin skein of sweat covered his skin. "Man, I just…damn," he murmured, still pacing the room. He ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes again as though he were trying to be rid of some vision or image burned on them.

"Atton, I want to help you. Please tell me, or show me through our bond—"  
"No, Dane," he stated. "You don't want this. And what for?" he added, finally ceasing his agitated tour around the room. "To scare the ever-loving shit out of you too? No, no. It's fine. I'm fine. I just…I think I'm going to take a walk around for a bit. Get some air."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Dane asked.

Atton looked at her then with a peculiar, fearful expression on his face and suddenly a horrible vision came to her mind. It was her own face, dead, and perched limply atop a bone-thin, wasted body. Her eyes were gone and her mouth was a black hole, puckered and stiff. Her hair was missing in clumps and the skin of her face was taut and stretched over the protruding bones of her cheeks like dried paper.

Dane recoiled and Atton realized what he had done.

"Dammit, no! I'm sorry," he moaned.

"That was your dream?" Dane asked quietly.

Atton snorted. "That was one fraction of one part of the whole damn thing," he said, hurriedly drawing on his clothes as he spoke. "I didn't want you to see it. I forgot about the bond." He tossed on his sleeveless jacket and paused at the door before activating it. "I'll be back in a while. I just don't think I'm gonna try sleeping again. Not yet." And then he was gone.

Dane sat on the edge of the bed, at a loss, while across the hall from her, Lirik rose from his cross-legged position on the floor and slumped wearily into bed.

"That'll do for now," he whispered into the dark, before drifting off to sleep. "A good start, but I can do better…"

* * *

Mission Vao awoke in the early morning to the sound of the commsystem blaring an alarm of some kind at her. She had fallen asleep in the hold and now sat up, groggy, and momentarily confused. 

"What is it?" she asked Zaalbar who strode in at the sound of the beeping.

"_Incoming message,_" the Wookiee replied. He punched a few buttons and the holoimage of a cat-like woman dressed in Jedi robes appeared.

Mission blinked sleepily and stood before the hologram.

"Juhani?"

"Mission," was the woman's curt reply. "Where is the Exile? I must speak with her."

"She's not here," the Twi'lek replied. "What's going on?"

Even through the hologram's grainy green imaging, Juhani appeared irritated and more than a little unsettled. "Please inform the Exile that her presence is requested on Coruscant immediately, as well as Jolee's. We need their help. It is urgent."

"But why? Juhani, you're starting to scare me."

"Mission, there is no time. Dustil does not have time. He—"

"What about Dustil?" Mission demanded, her heart thundering in her chest.

"He is very badly injured. We found him only a few hours ago. He has been attacked—"

"Well, heal him!" Mission cried, leaning over the console. "You're all a bunch of Jedis! What's wrong with him? What happened? Oh, gods…"

"Calm yourself," Juhani said, clearly perplexed at the Twi'lek's reaction. "Attempts to heal him have not worked as we'd like. He is in a state of unconsciousness and will not revive. Mission, we need the help of the Exile and of Jolee. Please," she added softly. "For Carth's sake."

Mission could hardly speak and so she nodded vigorously and shut off the console. _Oh no, Dustil, what happened? Oh, please don't die, don't die, don't die, _she thought as she raced out of the _Ebon Hawk_ without so much as a word to Zaalbar, out into the driving rain of the storm that showed no signs of stopping.

* * *

Carth Onasi felt his grip onrational sanity begin to ebb. He felt it—the straining and snapping of his patience, will, and emotions, as he paced over Dustil's bed. "I swear on Morgana's grave, if I find who did this to my son, I will kill him," he seethed through clenched teeth. 

Lanik Thrakill sat up straighter in his chair in the small hospital room as if someone had called his name. "Vengeance is hardly appropriate at this time, Admiral," he said in a low, soothing voice. Carth snapped his gaze over the Jedi and Lanik held up his hands in a placating manner. "I meant only that we should concentrate on bringing Dustil back to health. The boy will be able to direct us to the perpetrator in due time."

"Well, then why the hell don't you get to it?" Carth snarled. His blackened gaze went between Lanik and Bastila who sat beside him. The woman quailed under his wrath but regained her composure quickly. "Carth, we have tried everything we can. He is…"she swallowed hard. "He is beyond the Force now," she whispered.

Carth froze in his agonized pacing. _Damn useless Jedi,_ he thought. A tiny voice reminded him that it was not their fault that Dustil was the way he was, but he didn't care. He was seeking to hold on to his anger because if he let it go, if he let the grief and fear come crashing in, he would lose himself to it. He clenched his teeth again to bite back the harsh words and slumped into the chair beside his son.

They were in the Fleet's med facility. As soon as word had reached him that Dustil was missing, Carth had wasted no time and spared no personnel to embark on a massive manhunt. He remembered his relief as the search had ended within hours of its commencement, and then the crushing horror that followed when news of Dustil's condition was reported. Carth had ordered his men to take Dustil to the Fleet's own med facility where the best and most advanced med droids worked for nearly eight hours to save him…and the best they could do was get him stable. Dustil would not open his eyes.

Now, Carth looked over at his son and felt that tide of grief and pain try to break over the levee of rage he had built at his son's attackers.

Dustil's head was nearly entirely covered in the white gauzy bandages. The back of his skull had been fractured and the droids had had to operate to replace most of the bone in the back with alloy plating. Dustil's windpipe had been crushed almost completely and there was now a tube down his throat to facilitate his breathing. His eyes were ringed with bruises and his lips were split and crusted with dried blood. Carth thought he could take it—the awful image of his broken son—that he could handle _anything_ if only Dustil would just open his eyes. In fact, Carth had started making silent pleas and bargains to nobody that he _would _do anything asked of him…_If only Dustil would just open his eyes! _

Carth pressed the heel of his hand to his own eyes, willing the grief away.

"He is not lost yet," came Bastila's soothing, yet shaken voice. He felt her hands rest gently on his shoulders. "Jolee has been on Manaan studying healing. Perhaps he has found something that will help."

"What's that, more kolto?" Carth spat. "The kid's been soaked in kolto, in bacta, too until he's been practically pickled and it _hasn't helped. _And neither has the damn Force!"

"Carth—"

"Get out," he snarled, shaking off her touch and rising to his feet.

"Carth, please…" She was pleading with him, her eyes full of tears. "I love him too—"

"_Get out!"_ Carth thundered. Bastila flinched as though he'd struck her but he didn't relent. "Now! GET OUT!"

Lanik rose to his feet and placed his arms around Bastila who was weeping now and began to lead her out of the room. "Come, Bastila. Leave him be." Lanik looked over his shoulder at Carth. "Have faith in the Force, Admiral Onasi," he said. "One way or another, it will bring an end to the suffering."

Carth didn't know what the Jedi's words meant and he didn't care. He was exhausted—hadn't slept and hadn't eaten in nearly twenty-four hours and he wouldn't. He refused to leave Dustil's side and he damned anyone who tried to tell him otherwise. He regretted the pain he had caused Bastila, but that regret was like a tiny little mote in a dust storm of agony and it was gone as soon as he had considered it. There was only one thing important to him now…everything and everyone else could go to hell as far as was concerned.

He resumed his seat beside his son, took Dustil's hand in his own and resumed his litany of pleas. "Come on, Dustil, wake up. Wake up, son. Please…"

Outside the room, as he led Bastila out of the med facility, Lanik called upon his brother.

Lirik, what the hell is taking so long? The brat is going to wake up before I have a chance to kill him and them my life is going to become exceedingly difficult. But there was no answer. Lanik swore under his breath and considered his options. 

Carth wasn't going to leave the room anytime soon, but he was no Jedi. _He won't feel me use the Force to kill the boy, but Bastila can and I can't get the wench to leave me in peace for longer than five minutes. I'll just have to pay Dustil a visit some night alone. _Lanik smiled and soothed his ruffled temper. _Yes, a late night visit from Uncle Lanik should do the trick, and then I shall have to spend a good hour at the mirror practicing my expressions of shock and grief when it is learned that sweet Dustil suddenly took a turn for the worse…_

* * *

Dawn came sooner for Lirik than he wanted. He rubbed his eyes and was tempted to linger abed longer. _But there is much to do today. _

It was a simple matter for Lirik to sneak past the restaurant personnel and creep into the dim, dusty confines of the old Sith base. He glanced back over his shoulder several times, however. _That old crank is following me, I just know it_ he thought, slipping past enormous crates and neglected equipment.

He found what he was looking for soon enough—a computer terminal towards the center of the immense building.

"Come on, baby," Lirik said, flipping on the main power supply. A triumphant smile spread over his face as the console whirred to life—colored lights and switches blinking on through a layer of dust. Lirik glanced around once more. The room was entirely dark but for the blinking lights—he had made his way through the base, feeling his way along the discarded possessions of the Sith that had occupied Manaan. Anyone following him would have to do the same, moving slowly, as he had. But there was silence and Lirik turned his attentions fully to the computer, crouching on his heels in front of it.

The preliminary screen asked for a security code before granting access. Lirik was of high enough rank that he possessed an override code that gave him access to any Sith database he saw fit to investigate. Not that he ever had cause too—that was Lanik's department. _Lanik and that awful bitch, Jude Gracus,_ he thought bitterly. He punched in his code, hoping this old system was sophisticated enough to access it. It wasn't.

Lirik cursed under his breath. Of course he could not access this database; it had been out of use and out of the network at the time his code was programmed into the Sith systems. _Stupid, bloody, fucking security codes. _He was no slicer, Lirik, but gave it a shot anyway…and failed miserably.

"Dammit all to bloody hell!" he swore in a hissing whisper. He slammed his fist on the desk…right on top of a datapad. Wiping the dust from his hand down the front of his robes, Lirik picked up the datapad and turned it on petulantly. He was stewing in his disappointment while scrolling down through paragraphs of useless blabbering the owner of the datapad had deemed important.

"Stupid, bloody…"Lirik started to mutter again when he came along this sentence:

"_Republic presence no less intensified and a Jedi woman and her crew have arrived. All cameras, patrol droids and computer console security systems to be reprogrammed with new encryption as a precaution. XJ43599I. Keep on person at all times. (If Commander Bresson saw this I'd be hung for sure.)"_

"You _should_ have been hung, you lazy, careless bastard," Lirik said through his snickering laughter. He punched the letters and numbers into system and watched with satisfaction as the access screen gave way and the whole of the Sith database was his.

Lirik accessed a 'search' option and scrolled down until he found 'personnel.' Though this system on Manaan had been long out of use, Lirik knew it was as complete as any other Sith database anywhere else. The standard programs were all the same so that any Sith on any planet could access the same data as he or she would on a homeworld. Lirik typed in the name "Jaq Rand" in the personnel screen. The system searched for the name and three items were found: **AWOL personnel,** **Black List/Code 7 personnel**, and **Production Record.**

Lirik ignored the first two. He knew they meant that Atton had left the Sith without obtaining permission—as if there was such a thing—and that he was now wanted and marked for death and/or reprogramming. But the third item interested Lirik very much. He selected that and watched as a mountain of data appeared on the screen.

An image of a young, scowling man appeared in the upper left corner and Lirik silently congratulated himself for there was no mistaking Atton. He was younger of course, his hair cut shorter, and his eyes much more grim and cunning than the Atton Lirik had come to know. Under the image was the name Jaq Rand, his date of birth, but where there should have been the date of his enlistment into the Sith's ranks, there was a star-shaped symbol and Lirik's jaw dropped. That mark, he knew, meant that 'Jaq Rand' was no ordinary Sith, but a part of special, elite unit whose sole purpose was to hunt and kill Jedi.

"The droid was right," Lirik whispered, awed. "This is too bloody perfect." He sat back on his heels. "You've done quite the turnaround, haven't you? Let's see if we can't get you to come full circle." Lirik tore his eyes from the image of a scowling young Atton and scanned over his Production Record.

He whistled through his teeth. "Atton, you were a very, very good boy, weren't you?" he whispered.

**Confirmed kills**: **87**

**Confirmed Captures:** **139**

Lirik looked at those numbers, shaking his head. He knew a random search of any other person in that elite unit would no doubt yield only half the results young Jaq Rand had been able to accomplish.

The dark Jedi scrolled through some other biographical information—of which there was very little—until he saw, at the end of the screen, a brief note:

_Current Status: AWOL and BL. Code 7 protocols should be initiated upon capture as subject is valuable to Cause. _

Lirik made a clucking sound. "Code 7, eh?" he mused. "And here, Lanik has been thinking I am merely wasting my energies and having fun turning Atton, when actually I have been diligently _following orders _the whole time."

Lirik sauntered out of the Sith base whistling a tune, his mind already devising tonight's nightmare—_A blast from ole Jaq's past_, he snickered. He was not surprised at all to see Jolee Bindo loitering outside the front of the restaurant.

"You look tired, Lirik. What you been up to?" the old man asked, not too kindly.

Lirik bowed slowly. "Oh, this and that, Master Bindo," he said with a sickly smile. He held up a bag of food he had purchased on a whim and at the last moment from the Selkath restaurant.

Jolee scowled, but Lirik thought the old man looked a little bit disappointed.

Lirik winked. "Everyone's got to eat sometime."

* * *

_It was raining. The drops fell on the black and gray uniforms of the Sith assassins who stood stiff and tall in the falling dusk. Row after row of them stood at attention, facing a great stairway that led only to a platform. At the back of the platform was an enormous tapestry emblazoned with the insignia of an 'R' coiled with serpents in red, black and gray. In front of the tapestry stood Revan. _

_She wore her long capes and hooded mask and stood still as death. Jaq, standing three steps below her, felt the dark power radiating off of her like a noxious—and intoxicating—vapor. He himself was resplendent in his dress uniform—also gray and black and detailed in blood red. Jaq watched over the ranks of the Sith, watched as two dark Jedi, their faces masked like executioners, stepped forward, past the rows. In their gloved hands, dragged between them, was a Jedi woman._

_Jaq, for it was Jaq Rand standing proudly beneath Dark Lord Revan, smiled coldly and stood up straighter. He felt proud and, more importantly, he felt Revan's pride in _him_. It was Atton who watched through Jaq's eyes, while simultaneously lying helpless and trapped in a body writhing on a bed in Manaan. He screamed muted protests as the Jedi was brought forth because the Jedi was, of course, Dane._

_Revan waited, still and implacable, until the dark Jedi had passed the ranks of Sith and arrived at the foot of the white marble stairs. A small, almost imperceptible nod of Revan's hooded and masked head and the dark Jedi released their captive. She fell, bloodied and broken, in a heap against the bottommost stairs. _

_Jaq tensed and his hand strayed to the gleaming vibroblade that was slung on his hip. He licked his lips for though the air was heavy with rain, his mouth was dry—partly with anticipation, partly with longing. Atton, seeing Dane's suffering form struggle to move, to rise to her feet, called to her but she could not hear him._

_Revan, raising one black-gloved hand, spoke and her voice was muffled behind the mask but terrible still. _

"_Rise, Exile Jedi Master Koren. Rise and come forward. Meet your death with the same dignity in which you lived. Let your last moments be faced bravely and without frailty, lest the last remembrances of you in this life be those of weakness and cowardice. Stand and come forward, and I shall be merciful."_

_Jaq narrowed his eyes as the Jedi woman rose to her feet, swaying unsteadily at first. She raised her face and looked up at Revan. Jaq watched her, a scowl of derision on his face and with slithering glances up and down her body. Atton watched her and saw beauty, beauty that had been marred and ruined. Her wide-set blue eyes were shadowed, her fair skin bloodied and rent with dagger trails that would, were she to live, leave a patchwork of scars over her face. Her broad mouth and red lips were stained as well and her white blond hair stuck like to the blood like the fine strands of a spider web. Her clothes, her Jedi robes, were torn and filthy and bloodstained in so many places, Atton wondered with mounting rage, what had happened to her. _

_And as if his wish had been granted, he suddenly remembered everything that had happened to Dane—her capture by his other self, her torture, her indignities…He saw it all and _felt_ it all, for it was his own hands—Jaq's hands—that had perpetrated most of the violence against her. Atton had felt the grip of the knife that had cut her, felt the fabric of her robes as they were torn, felt her body under his… and Atton screamed and shut his eyes but they would not close for Jaq was watching and Jaq had wanted to see everything…_

"_Heal yourself if you can, Jedi whore," Atton heard Jaq murmur now. "I would face you strong."_

_Atton heard his own anguished cry, but no one else did. _

_Dane Koren's eyes went from Revan, standing on high, to Jaq below her. He watched her as recognition of her tormentor dawned in their harrowed depths. He saw too, her gaze go to his hand on the hilt of his blade and watched as understanding came to her. But she did not falter. She seemed to nod, once, with resolution, and take a step._

_She climbed the stairs with her head up and her eyes straight ahead. Jaq's heart began to pound and his palms broke out in a sweat. He wiped one hand, his right hand, surreptitiously on the pants leg of his uniform. His grip must be sure lest he make a mess of things. Revan would not approve._

_When Dane arrived on the same step upon which Jaq stood, she stopped. Her eyes were on Revan—she refused to look at Jaq and he grew angry. _You will look at me soon, Jedi. You will look on me and know who has bested you. Me, a man only and you, a powerful Jedi, fallen and broken. You will see me and take with you into eternity the face of your destroyer…

_Atton tried to speak, to tell Dane he was there, and then Revan spoke, jarring both Jaq and Atton to attention._

"_You have done well, Master Koren. You have risen above weakness and for that you have earned a swift death. Be at one with the Force, Master Koren, and take with you into forever a taste of the dark side…"_

_Atton heard Revan's words, like echoes of Jaq's, but those words were the cue to begin what had brought this gathering together. Dane seemed to know what was expected of her as well for she nodded once, and turned to face Jaq. She dropped gracefully to her knees, raised her head, and closed her eyes._

_Jaq moved forward despite Atton raging and fighting impotently every step of the way. Again, Atton felt it when Jaq's hands closed around the hilt of the vibroblade. He heard the metallic song of the blade being unsheathed, felt Jaq's other hand join the first on the hilt._

_Jaq stepped toward Dane and when he was within on meter of her kneeling form, he turned to Revan and saluted her. She nodded once, that immense, masked face, and Jaq smiled a crooked smile in return. Then he turned back to Dane. _

_He planted his feet apart while Atton strained to somehow stop what was about to occur. Atton felt Jaq raise the blade and curve it to the side, felt him tighten his hold on the hilt. But Dane's eyes were closed and that did not suit him. _

"_Look at me, Jedi, and know me for who I am. Look at me!"_

_Dane opened her eyes._

_Atton saw her see past Jaq for the first time and she saw _him…

"_Know my name, Jedi," Jaq hissed…_

"_No…" Dane whispered, recognition dawning…_

"_My name…"_

"_Please, love, no…"_

"…_is Atton Rand…"_

_And then the blade came down._

* * *

Atton Rand sat at the cantina bar, slumped over his drink. A cigarra sat limply in his fingers, a curve of unbroken ash growing on the end. His head drooped and he jolted upright. The ash spilt all over the bar and he took a drag off the cigarra before stubbing it out. 

"Gimme another," he told the bartender. The man obliged and Atton downed the Corellian brandy on one gulp.

He didn't like brandy—it was too sweet for his tastes, but he had tried everything he could think of, every alcohol in the known universe and none of it worked. Nothing could kill the nightmares that lurked in his mind every night and which plagued him relentlessly. Three days had passed and he found no relief. Not in whiskey or brandy or anything else.

_Three days, _he mused bitterly and ordered another round. He didn't like to ponder over his nightmares—they were horrifying enough as it was—but he found he could do little else in his waking hours…_And I got plenty of those._ When it wasn't liquor he was drinking, it was cup after cup of the strongest caffa he could find.

_Damn Selkath, stupid morons can't make caffa for shit. _He shook his head at the thought. It was of the same caliber as the rest of his musings had been lately—low and cruel, but he found he was lacking the capacity to care. All he could think of was those dreams, searching in their blackened depths for some meaning, some clue as to why they ravaged his mind every night. Except now they didn't. In the end it wasn't whiskey or brandy or anything else that brought him victory over the nightmares—he simply stopped sleeping.

Of course, not sleeping for going on close to seventy-two hours was taking its toll. He snapped at anyone who tried to talk to him, he played Pazaak until every game seemed to be the same as every other game, and he drank himself into states of semi-consciousness and then pulled himself back out of them again with gallons of caffa. _Yes, life is special right now, _he mused and barked a harsh laugh. _But at least I've gotten to know where every single refresher is on this whole, stupid, blob of a planet. _He laughed at his own joke and turned around, intending to tell it to HK-47…but the droid wasn't there. Atton had forgotten that he had given the slip to the assassin droid. _Damn thing wouldn't stop calling me 'Jaq' _and being called 'Jaq' was the last thing Atton could take.

His bleary eyes that burned and ached to close for longer than a few moments, darkened, as his thoughts went, inevitably and always, back to the dreams. He couldn't escape them, they perched on the edge of consciousness ready to spring when anything in his waking hours resembled things in the dreams. A cup of red wine at the cantina was now a goblet of blood. A Pazaak opponents laugh was a Sith assassin's exclamation of triumph. And Dane…

Dane was no longer the beautiful woman he had come to love but a corpse or a victim by turn. He could hardly stand to look at her and he lacked the capacity to make her understand. So he stayed away from her and reminded himself it was for her own good. What little time they did spend together was devoted to arguing over his new habits. She wanted him to meditate, thinking the Force would help him. He had tried to tell her he was beyond that—that when he closed his eyes to meditate sleep was lurking right around the corner to snatch him and there was no way he was going to fall for that.

_If we could just get off this damn planet,_ he thought for the hundredth time. But that was not going to happen. The storm had taken on a kind of ferocious life of its own and showed no signs of abating. Dangerous bolts of lightning crackled in the sky nearly every other second and the Selkath had shut down the docks. No ships were to enter or leave Ahto City under any circumstances.

"What a pisser," Atton muttered to no one. It was unfortunate timing, not just for himself, but two days ago the Twi'lek had come squealing out of the _Hawk_ saying that Dustil had been attacked and Dane and Jolee needed to get to Coruscant right away to help him. Atton snorted. _Tough for you kid, _he thought, remembering the heated arguments between Dane and the Selkath officials that led to nothing.

"They can't make a decent cup of caffa, but they sure know how to enforce their stupid laws," Atton muttered.

"What's that?" the bartender asked.

Atton waved a hand. "Nothing. Go'way. No, wait. I need another."

"I think you've had enough," the bartender returned. "Go on, buddy. Go sleep it off."

Atton looked at the bartender, his head cocked to one side. "Go sleep it off," he murmured. Atton began to chuckle. "Is that what I should do? Of course, how stupid of me," he said. His words sounded crazy and full of booze but he didn't care. He began to laugh harder. "Yeah, sleep it off! Now, why didn't I think of that?" He choked on his cigarra smoke and stubbed the thing out as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

He laughed and ignored the stares of the bartender and a few other patrons. He laughed as he made his way stumbling out of the cantina. He laughed until he made it all the way outside, into the storm

Atton stood alone, the rain drenching him instantly and the lightning breaking the sky apart into jagged cracks of yellow light. He laughed up into the sky, the sound of it drowned in the rain and thunder, but he kept laughing until the wretched hopelessness of it all made its way up through the alcohol.

Standing with his arms hanging limply at his sides, his head thrown back under the pouring rain, Atton told himself that he was laughing and laughing but he was pretty sure that he was crying instead.

* * *

**Notes to Reviewers**: 

To** Sirval** who reviewed on 28: Wanted to drop you a line since I didn't do a Notes last chap. Thanks for making this story the first on your review list. That's pretty cool in my book. I'm glad you like the story.

To **LunaticPandora:** How will it go with Lirik knowing Atton is a Sith? Why, very, very badly, of course:) AND Lirik has one more lesson in store for our boy.

To **Mellyna:** Thank you for your kind words, and don't say things like "Write as many chaps as you want" 'cause the next thing you'll know it'll be the year 2015, Chap 432 will be posted next with a summary like this: "Dane shops for bladder control undergarments while Atton's teeth fall out in his soup—again." Hee hee. No, I am shooting for 40 but I think it's pretty clear by now that might be a conservative estimate. Thanks again!

To **Magenta2:** Bastila falling for Lanik, hmm, yes. Well, yes and no. I don't know how it comes across (and I should pay attention to how it does) but Bastila is a lonely gal and I suspect she is more interested in the idea of a lover than actually having one and Lanik is the only available guy in her world now. I'm glad you like the twins. Yes, I love my boys but they are very bad and they deserve a spanking! Any volunteers? (eyes** LuvsDelkoSpeed**) Thank you, **Magenta**, for your review.

To **Revan's Pet Duck:** Atton could NEVER lose his cuteness! Wash your mouth out with soap, young lady! Jusss kidding! He just got a little messed up but he's good now. The Force is like that. We use concealer from L'Oreal, they just do a 'laying of hands.' Ahh, the future is going to be so great. :)

To **LuvsDelkoSpeed:** I'm glad you think the twins are sneaky bastards. I'd hate to think that they were really obvious and so everyone around them was really stupid. It's hard not to overreach the story. Like, you know they're bad, and I know they're bad, but that doesn't mean the rest of the characters should go around musing, "Hmm, I wonder if they're bad." About Dustil NOT dying. I screwed the pooch on that one. I assumed (and we all know what happens when people start assuming things) that y'all would know that I would never just kill someone off so abruptly. (Leigh excluded, I dropped her like a bad habit but she was an OC and as one reviewer pointed out, OC's are expendable.) Anyhoo, I should not have tipped off you guys with my note no matter what so in the future, I shall refrain from such things. And lord woman, don't feel bad about being attracted to a conglomeration of pixels. Isn't thatwhywe're allhere? Because Atton is hot? I swear, anyone of us could write a one-shot called "Atton Scratches his Ass" and it would get a 100 hits the first hour.

To **Fatemperor:** Ok, so I had some of the same thoughts on speeding things up and truly, as the title of this chapter implies, things will speed up. However, I know the story I want to tell and it isn't the most action-packed extravaganza around. Of course, action is always good and I am mindful now of it, but everything that has happened recently is there for a reason and will _resolve_ in the end. Thank you for your review and I'm glad you like it.

To **Miss Becky**: (singing badly) You are the wind beneath my wiiiiiings. heehee. Thanks for the beta, precious, I needed it. Regarding Lirik and Lanik being sneaky and Jolee suspicious and all that, I have a theory. Bad guys want to get caught. They want, deep down, to be stopped from doing all the horrible crap they do, and so they make really stupid mistakes. I'm not saying my boys will be that stupid, but they are bound to trip up sooner or later. It's just how it goes. Even the most awful DS baddie falls under this category in my humble opinion. It is why many of them are turned at the end: Malak, Scion, even Kreia to a certain extent. Except for Raff O'Bannon. That dude was just plain _wrong. _You made a note during the beta about Jude, and yes, that's exactly why I tossed that line in there. She'll be coming soon. ;) Thank you again for the beta and everything else.

To **Kuramas Girl Angel:** I'm back. Indiana is lovely this time of year. The lightning is plentiful and the mosquitoes are in full bloom.:) Never thought I'd miss Los Angeles. Thanks for the note, sweetie.

To **qt3.14159:** I have a confession to make. I haven't seen Red Eye yet. I know! I've been so busy with work and other assorted things, I haven't made time. I was pleased to read reviews that talked about how beautifully creepy Cillian was though. Glad I modeled the twins off him. Thanks for the review!

To **demonessjo:** It is heartening to know that I could hit 40-plus chapters and you'd still be there.:) As I told **Mellyna,** given my druthers (who says that nowadays? No one!) I would write until chapter 500 but I have that pesky real book to work on. I'll keep you updated on its ever-so-slow progress. This whole fic has been such terrific practice. Yeah, HK is protective all right. Yikes. I don't blame Atton for giving him the slip. With protection like that…Actually, when it comes down to it, HK's a pretty handy droid to have around. Speaks a zillion languages AND will blow your enemy's head off if you want him to. Whattaguy. And can I just say thank you for enjoying Lirik's little Play in One Act in the cantina. I might have been stretching the way Force Persuade works, but hey, creative liberty right? If George Lucas can make lightsabers have pointed tips—POINTED TIPS! They're made of LIGHT! How can light be POINTED?—then I can use the FP, right? Thank you!

To **Royce:** Thank you so much for your review. I hope to write professionally very soon. Well, not soon. My book needs a ton of work but it's there. I'm real glad you like this and I am grateful you would take the time to tell me your thoughts.

To **gekkeiju**: Thank you for the sweet note. I appreciate it, as I do all of your reviews. (You and qt have been with me since the beginning, god luv ya both.)

To **DargonScales13:** Mmmhmm. Poor little Mission. She's not going to be a happy camper in the not-too-distant future. PS. Macen says 'hi.' heehee

**Kaya Ookami:** New reviewer, yay! As Armand said to Louis: You have…questions? Well, maybe not but I'll clear some stuff up. Regarding your first point, see response to Fatemperor. Regarding Dane not emoting enough. DANE NOT EMOTING ENOUGH! The woman does so much emoting she could give Faye Dunaway in Mommie Dearest a run for her money. Juuuus kidding! I just thought I couldn't have her weeping over the guy…again. Regarding Bastila falling for Lanik, I disagree. I think the gal is super lonely and while Lanik hasn't been there a long time, Bastila's been alone for a _very long time._ The girl needs some manly lovin'! She's just barking up the wrong tree. Also, her cold, aloof exterior that she wore the ENTIRE first game has got to crack sometime. You're not over-critical. Bring it on, I can take it. ;) No, but seriously, thank you for the review. I always appreciate them and any criticism anyone has. You don't have to be gentle, only respectful will do, but I think this site is filled with really good-hearted people who are so incredibly supportive of other writers, it's amazing.

**On a side note**: I used to play Hearts online like a fiend and the anonymity of the internet turned people into the most raging bastards. Like, they said what they would never dare say to another person face to face. I have only seen here, but for a few miniscule exceptions, a tremendous outpouring of helpful support. There's some good people here. :)

**Reviewer Poll:** It took me about an hour to write these notes. I love joshing with all of you, but do you like being replied to? Let me know and I'll rein it in. Otherwise, I'll keep jabberin' away. (But you already knew that, right?) You guys are the best!

**Up next:** My attorneys have advised me that after the "Great Dustil Fuck Up" I am not allowed to have any more 'up nexts.' So. Up next…uh, Chap 31. 'Cause it comes after 30. That's ok, right?


	31. Falling

**_Author's Note: As things get worse for Atton, so does his language. Ye be warned._ **

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 31**

**Falling…**

_"Hate._

_"Hate is the final, the most crucial, and the most rewarding step of my three-part technique for turning your target to the dark side. By now you should already have utilized pain and fear to their utmost so that your intended target is spiritually worn down, is demoralized and apparently completely beaten. Not very useful to you, is he, at this stage? Know this my pupils, there is life in him still. There is a vitality that nothing short of death can extinguish—it remains up to you to determine how your target uses that vitality. You have buried him in a deep, black trench from which he seeks to escape. But does he muster the will and strength to haul himself out? Only if you are lazy or abandon him at this time. If you do not persist, the target's own core of fortitude will guide him from the morass you have left him in and that is unacceptable. It will wipe out the hours of work you have put in to his reprogramming. No, the target is seeking a way out of that dark pit but it is you who must show him the correct way so that all your energies have not been spent in vain. _

"_My pupils, hate is the anchor that will keep your target from drifting upwards to the light side. _

_"Now then, helping your target out of the dank pit you have placed him in is a two-part tactic. The first being, you lower him a rope—so to speak— constructed of our doctrines and truths. You convince him that his current spiritual state is actually preferable to any other—specifically his previous inclinations toward the light side. You gently haul him out by keeping him right where he is. When your target is at least amenable to such ideas (and he should be for isn't there relief in believing you don't have to work hard and toil to improve, but can stay as you are?) then you begin the second portion. You offer your target a grenade or two of hate and he will blast himself right out of useless apathy and into the heart of the dark side. _

_"Assist your target into finding his own person or persons upon whom he may direct all the pain and fear and anguish he has been suffering at your hands. Give him a reason to vent, a justification to explode, a target against whom he can unleash the pain he has been feeling. Grant him this release, and he will be yours…he will be _ours_. The dual relief of opening the floodgates coupled with the knowledge that he does not have to work his way back up to the light but is accepted as he is, and you have, my pupils, made a Sith…_

* * *

Atton stumbled into the hotel, not knowing if it was day or night, nor how much time had passed since he'd stepped out into the storm. He was drenched to the bone and he didn't care. His shoulder ached dully and he hardly noticed. He shuffled like the dead, with his head down and his eyes cast to the ground. Those few inhabitants about in Ahto City at that late hour stepped aside as he passed, murmuring to themselves that a specter walked among them. Atton didn't hear their words or see their quick and furtive glances for he was not in Ahto City, but some dark place far away, in a time that was black and violent and smelt of blood. _My life…_he thought, _Jaq's life. But, gods help me, Jaq is me…_

Atton staggered to the hotel room and tried to shove his keycard into the door. He jammed it in several times but the door would not give. _What…? Maybe Dane changed the lock. Wouldn't be surprised. _

"Query: Master Jaq?"

Atton looked around blearily. HK-47 was standing across the hall, in front of another door. It took Atton nearly a minute to comprehend that the droid was at his usual post, guarding his and Dane's door, and that he had been trying to jam his keycard into someone else's room.

Atton croaked a laugh. HK cocked its rusted red head.

"Retraction: My apologies, Master. I have forgotten you wish to not be called by that other meatbag name."

Atton peered at the droid, swaying like a drunken person. "One name's as good as another, HK," he muttered. "Is Mission still in there?" Dane had taken Mission in when the Twi'lek proved inconsolable over Dustil. Atton had used that as another excuse to stay away. _Hell, it's not like I need a place to sleep for the night. Why am I even here? _The answer was simple: he had nowhere else to go. The cantina only stayed open so late.

"Reply: No, Master Jaq. Master Koren has sent her to the ship to inform the Jedi meatbags on Coruscant that we are to be leaving this planet shortly."

Atton raised an eyebrow and slouched against the door he had been mistakenly trying to enter. "Oh yeah? And how're we s'posed to do that? The fish have shut the docks down."

"Unsure Reply: I don't know, Master Jaq. She did not think to enlighten me as to the exact plan. She did, however, ask that I notify her upon your return from…" HK-47's photoreceptors flickered at Atton, "…your swim in the ocean?"

Atton snorted and made to reply when the door he had been leaning against suddenly slid open. He fell back and would have landed on his ass had not Lirik caught him.

"Whoa, Atton!" Lirik laughed, propping him up and smacking him heartily on Atton's recently injured shoulder enough to sharpen the dull ache that had already been awakened. "I thought I heard someone trying to break into my room. Whatsamatter? Tied one on, did you? Little woman's kicked you out?" Lirik snickered again. "You don't look so hot. Come on in and let ole Lirik take care of you."

Atton didn't have the energy or the will to protest. He gave HK a kind of half-salute and let himself be steered into the room by the Jedi. Before shutting the door, Lirik stuck his head out and said something to HK-47, but Atton didn't catch it. Lirik's room was larger than his and Dane's, accommodating two people with two beds a small table and two chairs. He slumped gratefully into one of the chairs and pulled out a cigarra.

"Mind if I smoke?" he asked, the cigarra already in his mouth.

"Not at all," Lirik replied. "In fact, I think I'll join you." Lirik pulled out his own smoke and lit both his and Atton's—Atton finding it difficult to negotiate his own lighter.

"So," Lirik said, taking a drag and exhaling through his words, "what is going on with you, Atton? You don't look well, if you don't mind me saying."

"I don't mind," Atton said lazily. His eyes were at half-mast and stung for wanting to close completely. "Haven't been sleeping well," he added.

"I guess not!" Lirik laughed. "Here's a hint, try sleeping _out_ of the rain—you're soaked through! Whatcha do? Try swoop racing again?"

Atton's shoulder flared as though it had taken offense at the words. "Gods, no," he retorted. He opened his mouth to say more, but nothing came out. He took a drag off his cigarra instead.

Lirik raised his eyebrows. "Okay, my friend. You are in a bad way, but you want to know something else?"

Atton shrugged.

Lirik narrowed his eyes, studying Atton through the bluish haze of their smoke. "There's something different about you. You look like shit, there's no doubt about that. But you also, in a strange way, look _better._"

"Oh, really?" Atton asked. "And how, exactly, do you figure that?"

Lirik blew two smoke rings, one inside the next, and then smiled. "I don't know, you look more _real_ than when I first met you. Like you've stripped a bunch of baggage from yourself—metaphorically speaking—and now you're just more _you_, you know? I see you now and I think, 'Now, that's the Atton Rand that has been lurking underneath that lovesick puppy who followed Dane Koren around wherever she went.' No offense."

"None taken," Atton said and surprised himself because he meant it.

Lirik's smile widened. "Now look, I'm no great Jedi, the Force knows, but I _am_ a Jedi and my favorite part about it is being able to help Padawans like yourself reach their full potential, whatever that may be." He scooted forward in his chair and began to talk a mile minute. Atton wondered briefly why the man was this alert so late in the night, but Lirik was off and running and so Atton forced his sluggish mind to catch up.

"See, I think a Jedi's true powers and abilities come only when they've stripped off all that other skrag that's been weighing them down, and they are just themselves. I mean, how can you use the Force, really be in tune with it, if you've got all kinds of thoughts and distractions and junk like that floating around in your head?" Lirik asked, waving his hands around for emphasis. "I say, drop the pretense, drop the facades, and just be your damn self, and then…whew!" He sat back and shook his head. "Then, the real power is right there for the taking."

Atton sat back and absorbed this. He inhaled a copious amount of smoke from his cigarra and blew it out his nose. "I see where you're going with this, Lirik," he said slowly—everything he did now was slow—, "but let me ask you this: What if, after you've stripped off all the skrag, like you said, and all that other junk…What if, after you've done all that, all you're left with is…" Atton stopped himself. _Are you ready to admit it? _a voice asked. He sighed and rubbed his eyes as images from his dreams assaulted him. _Are those nightmares, or are they memories modified? I think it's time you answered that question. _

"All you're left with is what?" Lirik prompted softly.

Atton looked up at him. "A murderer. If all you're left with is a murderer, what then?"

He couldn't be sure, his red-rimmed and shadowed eyes were not terribly reliable as of late, but Atton swore he saw a flicker of something akin to bliss shine in Lirik's large blue eyes.

"What are you trying to tell me, Atton?" Lirik asked. "That you have crimes in your past?" His voice was gentle…_Like a snake sliding over paper,_ Atton thought.

"Yeah… I mean, no. I should go," Atton said. _You've said too much, you ass, _he told himself. He was too exhausted to think clearly and where his thoughts _did_ go lately was no place he was willing to confront, let alone share with Lirik Thrakill. He stood up, but his legs gave out and he fell back heavily into his chair. "Dammit," he muttered and rubbed his eyes again.

"Atton, you don't have to be ashamed of them," Lirik said. "We all have things in our lives, _incidents_, that we are not proud of. But they are what make us who we are. Don't you see? You should not seek to escape from your past, but embrace it. It has helped to shape you into the man you are today and you would be doing yourself a tremendous disservice to ignore it."

Atton listened to Lirik, steepling his fingers over his nose and pulling them down slowly over his face and mouth. He shook his head. "You don't understand. You don't, actually, have the faintest fucking clue. No offense."

Lirik sat back in his chair and smiled at him with narrowed eyes. "Oh, I think I do," he replied. "When I said I think that you look better now that when I first met you, I know now what it is I see. I see strength, Atton. I see a core of steel in you that you ignore when you should draw upon it."

Atton laughed—a bitter, harsh sound that held no mirth at all. "Strength? You're mad. I can't even get out of this chair." He leaned forward. "Lirik, I haven't slept in going on eighty-five hours. I don't know what the hell you're talking about 'core of steel' or what I should or shouldn't 'embrace' or anything else. All I know is that I want to sleep, but when I close my eyes, that glorious past you've been talking about comes down and makes me want to rip my fucking heart out. So shut up already about all that and just…just leave me alone."

He wanted to get up then and leave, but he wasn't altogether sure that his body would comply. _And I still have nowhere to go. What a mess. What an absolute bloody mess._

"Okay, Atton, I see how it is," Lirik said, smiling brightly. "Here I am waxing philosophical on you and you're so tired you can't even see straight. Come," he said, and stood up. He hooked one arm under Atton's and pulled him to his feet. "You sleep here tonight and—"

"No way," Atton growled, and pulled his arm free of Lirik's grip. The movement caused him to sway alarmingly and he would have fallen—again—if the other man hadn't steadied him. "Don't you get it?" he snarled. "I can't sleep. Not because I can't, but because I _can't. _I have nightmares…" It sounded weak and foolish to say the words aloud. The word nightmares itself was weak and couldn't even begin to describe what he had experienced but Lirik, surprisingly, didn't laugh or poke fun.

"I understand," he said, guiding the pilot to the second of the room's two beds. His grip was strong and slightly painful. "Sleep here and I swear to you, there will be no nightmares tonight."

Atton heard the words and small flicker of hope came to life in him. It was a tiny speck of light in a morass of black, but something in Lirik's words, in his eyes, told Atton that he was telling the truth. _And if he's not, I can always slit my throat in the morning. _

"All right, you win, Lirik. I don't care anymore."

Atton crashed headfirst onto the bed and felt sleep reach up and grab hold of him immediately to drag him down into oblivion. His body ached for it, but his mind, out of habit, screamed with fear and fought to stay awake. But it was a losing battle. Atton succumbed to sleep within moments of his head touching the pillow.

Lirik watched as Jaq—for that was how he thought of Atton now—fell almost immediately to sleep. _A little sleep, that's all he'll get—just enough to keep him around and then it is time to continue. _

* * *

Atton awoke to a rough shaking of his shoulder. He muttered a curse for it seemed like only minutes since he had fallen asleep and now… _I slept and there were no dreams. _He blinked open his eyes that still stung and longed to close again, and looked around. Lirik Thrakill was standing over him, smiling that jack-in-the-box smile of his. 

"Come on, Atton," he prodded, "time to get up. Sleep well? No nightmares, I take it?"

Atton sat up and tried to get his bearings. He looked up at Lirik. "Yeah, no nightmares." He gave a short, amazed laugh. _Thank the gods, it's over. _But his mood darkened again. However much unbroken sleep he had had, it wasn't enough. Like giving a starving man a single bite of food, the few hours Atton had only made him yearn for more. "Leave me alone," he snarled and he started to sink back down but Lirik wouldn't allow him.

"No, no, no," he said, hauling Atton to his feet. "You can sleep more later. You need exercise now."

"Exercise?" Atton snorted. "I can hardly—"

"Be a man, Atton," Lirik snapped. "You need exercise to get you back in shape after that accident. What, you don't believe me? Was I right about not having nightmares last night? Eh?"

Atton nodded slowly, regarding Lirik through narrowed, red-rimmed eyes. _That was true enough, _he thought, _but why?_ "Why are you helping me? Just who the hell are you, anyway?"

Lirik spread his hands out and smiled. "A friend, that's all." He laid his hand on Atton's arm, his smile slipping away as fast as it had come.

Something happened then, a moment passed in which everything grew very quiet and very still. Lirik's blue eyes bored into Atton's heavy ones and Atton felt a kind of electricity or energy radiate from Lirik and into him. His vision telescoped and grew narrow until all he saw was Lirik's face and all he could hear were his words, and those words were like the clear ringing of silver bells to Atton's exhausted and fog-darkened mind.

"I understand you, Jaq. No one else does, I know. No one else knows what it was like for you during the war. _The Jedi failed_, didn't they? They were supposed to help but they didn't and so you had to do what you had to do. You were left alone, _desperate_ and abandoned, while millions of people—your friends, your family even—were killed, _slaughtered_ before your very eyes. Who can blame you for seeking a solution? Allegiances were changed, new bonds were formed, and old allies became enemies. People think you did _bad things_, don't they Jaq? But I know different. You were just trying to _survive_, weren't you? And that is what I mean by embracing your past, Jaq. You did what you had to do and now you have people—people like Dane—telling you to forget your past, to ignore it, to cover it up like some ugly dead thing to be ashamed of. Not me, Jaq. I admire you for what you did."

"But…you're a Jedi too," Atton whispered. "I killed you…"

"That's the price of war, Jaq, and nothing else."

Atton nodded. He felt like he was underwater. Everything was blurry and getting mixed up in his head. _He's right, every word, _came a thought. _No, something is wrong here…very wrong,_ came another but then Lirik was speaking again.

"I know you, Jaq. I know that whatever you did during the war, you excelled at it. You were good. You were decorated. Men looked up to you or feared you in turn. That is strength, Jaq. That is _power_. And neither of those is anything to ever be ashamed of. Ever."

Atton blinked as Lirik released him from both his gaze and his grip.

"Come," he said brightly, as if they had just been discussing the weather. "I suspect it's been awhile since you ignited that lightsaber, eh? Exercise is what you need now, Jaq, to regain the strength you've lost. Let's go."

Atton nodded dumbly and took a step towards the door where Lirik was waiting. _No, something is very wrong, very wrong…_ But there were so many words and thoughts and emotions dredged up from his mind—from the nightmares, from the memories they recalled, and from Lirik's speech. Words, words, words, he felt like he was drowning in them. The feeling of being underwater came over him again and he suddenly thought that Dane was very, very far away

"Lirik…?"

The dark Jedi smiled. "Trust me."

To Atton the rest of the day was a haze of more words and images. The feeling of being underwater never left him so that he imagined himself at the bottom of Manaan's waters, hauling his body through the deep. The images his wearied eyes took in were blurred and insubstantial. He practiced with Lirik, drawing his orange, double-bladed lightsaber for the first time in what felt like years. It felt alien to him and very heavy; it's twin shafts of light like fiery specters dancing around him. Atton was almost amazed he didn't inadvertently chop off a limb or two, but he was still submerged in that realm of nightmares and memories and unrelenting exhaustion. He moved slower than he was capable as he parried and struck at Lirik. Lirik's lightsaber glowed like a dying ember and Atton never thought to ask him why he chose red.

While they sparred, Lirik talked to him, a never-ending stream of words that came to Atton muted and muffled. Atton couldn't concentrate, though he forced himself to try. Something told him, some small, inner voice that was growing fainter all the time, told him to pay attention, to _hear_ what Lirik was saying and not just _listen._ But whenever it seemed Atton caught a word or phrase that made his skin break out in gooseflesh, it was then that Lirik came at him fiercely with his 'saber and Atton was forced to defend and Lirik's words were forgotten.

Atton grew more and more weary until he crossed some threshold, some boundary in which his body gave up screaming for rest and his mind became cold and clear and sharp. It was then that Lirik called off the sparring saying that it was time for leisure and relaxing. But Atton was _awake_ and a terrible anger burned in him for what he had suffered over the last few days. The feeling of being submerged vanished and he began to remember Lirik's words… and he believed them to be true.

"I'm not done yet," he snarled at Lirik. He was stripped to the waist, breathing heavily but controlled. A thin skein of sweat stood out on his skin and while his shoulder ached, it was a good ache.

Lirik turned off his lightsaber. "Oh, yes you are, Jaq," he said. "But don't worry. We'll find you another opponent."

They dressed and went to the cantina and it seemed to Atton that it was then, as soon as he stepped into the crowded, smoke-filled room, that the floor canted sharply downward and he began to slide…

* * *

"There is a reason why the Order forbids Jedi to take spouses and lovers," Lirik was saying. Arrayed around him and Atton were several empty glasses and two full ones. Lirik took a drag off his cigarra and blew another perfect smoke ring. "It's not the distraction, like you might have heard, or that strong emotion leads to the dark side. That's a load of rancor shit if I ever heard it. The real reason," he said, gesturing at Atton, "is the betrayal. That's why people turn. You can have a happy couple where everything is fine until one day, one of them turns around and sleeps with someone else. Bam! Just like that. The jilted one is left with anger and pain and misery that have no outlet. And so they turn." 

Atton snorted. "Sounds a little too simple to me," he said, and quaffed his whiskey in one gulp. He chased it with a drag off his own cigarra.

"Sounds simple, yes, that's why it is the undetected reason the Order forbids marriage or companionship of any kind. They know the fickleness of human nature—that the betrayal is inevitable, and so they try to outlaw the whole concept."

To Atton, Lirik's words were of the exact same quality as what he had been listening to all day—they were not altogether the truth, but just enough so that Atton couldn't find where his argument would fit in.

"So you're saying that a scorned Jedi will fall to the dark side?" he asked, shaking his head.

"Absolutely," Lirik stated and ordered another round from the bartender. "I mean, take you and Dane for instance. You're both Jedi, you're both breaking the Code six ways from Tuesday…what would you do if it turned out that she was cheating on you?"

A cold sliver, like a shard of ice, slid itself into his heart at the concept and he narrowed his eyes. "I don't know what I would do. Kill the bastard, I suppose," he replied over the protests of that tiny inner voice.

"Right," said Lirik, "and that's murder, and that's the dark side."

Atton shifted in his seat, missing entirely the shrewd, studying glance Lirik leveled at him. "So what's your point?"

"My point is, there is a way to deflect that before it gets that far, and you can save the relationship. See, I'm all for Jedi sleeping around," he said and laughed heartily. "Of course, I have my own reasons to support that, if you know what I mean." He gave Atton a wink and a nudge, both of which Atton ignored.

"I think it's ridiculous to deny one of the most basic urges of man," Lirik continued, "but I do appreciate the problems it can cause. My solution is this: if you learn that your lover has been unfaithful, you take care of business. You take out the other guy and let your woman know the score, you see?"

Atton frowned. "Didn't you just say killing is bad?"

"No, no, don't kill the other man. Just teach him a lesson. It is an age-old trick and I think it works wonders. You feel better, your woman has a clear concept of what's expected of her and life goes on."

"Doesn't sound very civilized," Atton commented.

Lirik shrugged. "Civilized? What does that mean? No one is civilized, not when you get right down to it. I say vent that anger and pain, purge yourself of it and then you can go about your business in clear air."

"Yeah, all right, whatever you say," Atton muttered and downed his fourth whiskey.

"There's a reason I bring this subject up," Lirik said, after a pause. "It may be a little hard for you to take, but just know I'm only telling you so that you don't fall victim to your own darkened notions when you hear it."

Atton felt that shard of ice twist in his chest. "What are you talking about?" he asked, inhaling deeply on his cigarra.

Lirik sighed. "I think you know already," he said in a low voice.

Atton's eyes darkened. "Macen," he said.

"Yeah, 'fraid so," Lirik said.

"What do you know?" Atton demanded, rounding on Lirik. _I knew it. I knew that bastard was up to no good._

"Well, a few nights ago, I couldn't sleep and I was up pacing my room. I heard your door open and thought maybe you were heading out to the cantina so I quickly threw on my robe and went out. But it wasn't you, it was Dane," Lirik said. "She was hurrying quietly away and I got suddenly curious, so I followed."

"She went to see Mission in the _Hawk_," Atton said quickly. "I remember. She told me."

Lirik smiled a pitying smile and patted Atton on the shoulder. "It wasn't Mission she went to see, Jaq."

The icy shard twisted a final time and settled in his heart only to be burned away by his sudden rage. "You…you saw them?" Atton managed to ask. The hand holding the cigarra was starting to tremble and he stubbed it out.

Lirik nodded. "Yeah, I did. And it didn't look like the first time, either. They were quite _ardent_ if you know what—"

"Yeah, I get it," Atton snarled. "That son of a bitch, I knew it," he muttered to himself. _And Dane…she's been lying to you this whole time, playing you like she always has…playing you like the Jedi always did._

"I'm only telling you this, Jaq, because I don't want you to do anything stupid. Just take care of business, and I think…_now_ is your chance."

Atton followed to where Lirik pointed—the entrance to the bar where Macen had arrived. The man greeted some people, friends he had made during his time here, and went to stand with them, laughing and talking.

Lirik leaned in to Atton who was watching Macen with hatred in his eyes and began to speak in a low, unbroken string of words. "Everything that has happened to you over the last few weeks, think back on it. Think back to when things started to go wrong with you…the accident, the nightmares, the problems with Dane. Who was there? Who was there that wasn't before, when things were good?"

_Lirik!_ screamed Atton's tiny inner voice, but he ignored it. _No, not Lirik. It was Macen. Ever since the barge. Ever since that whole mess when Dane ignored me. She's defended him since the beginning, she's been sneaking out with him, meeting with him, _sleeping_ with him while I've been roaming this bloody damn planet sleepless and alone. Macen. It's always been Macen. _

"Macen," Atton said the name aloud. He drained his latest glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He got to his feet while Lirik leaned back in his own chair.

"That's right, go talk to him. Straighten everything out like gentlemen," Lirik said.

"_Talk_ to him? Yeah, I'll talk to him all right," Atton muttered and strode toward the knot of people with whom Macen was standing.

"Oh dear, I'm afraid I've started a little trouble," Lirik mused to himself and snickered, watching the scene that was to come with eager eyes.

Atton crossed the cantina in a few long, purposeful strides, shoving aside anyone who got in his way. He tapped Macen on the shoulder. "Hey, buddy," he said. Macen turned around and Atton slammed his fist into the older man's face.

The blow took Macen completely off-guard and he nearly stumbled to the ground.

"Hey!" said one of his friends.

"You shut up," Atton said, pointing a finger at the man. The whole group of them took an involuntary step back when they caught sight of his eyes. "You, Macen, get up."

Macen regained his footing and touched a hand to his broken and bleeding nose. "What's the problem, Atton?" he asked with a dry smile. "Rough night?"

"Smug son of a bitch," Atton muttered, "you know exactly what the problem is."

The cantina had grown silent and all eyes were on the pair.

Macen's own eyes grew dark. "No, I don't, but I tell you what, you try that cold-cocking bit one more time and I'm not going to be so forgiving. Go sleep it off, Atton. I don't have time for your jealous temper tantrums just now."

"Fuck you," Atton spat and struck out, this time with his left. He caught Macen on the right side of his face, splitting his lip in a fantastic spray of blood. Macen recovered more quickly this time and drove his left fist up and into Atton's stomach. Atton doubled over, the breath whooshing out of him, but he didn't let it slow his movements. He drove his right fist straight into Macen's chin and followed it quickly with his left. Macen, no stranger to fighting by any stretch, saw the left hook coming. He deftly blocked it and butted his head against Atton's.

There was a loud 'crack' and Atton felt his face awash with blood. Little blue sparks danced in front of his eyes and rough hands—other patrons trying to break up the fight—latched on to his arms. When the haze cleared he saw Macen in the same predicament only Macen threw off his friends with ease—Atton was pinned tight.

"Had enough?" Macen demanded. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and examined the red smear it left. "Dammit, Atton, what the hell is wrong with you? I—"

Atton was an Echani trained fighter. The last few years saw him switch to blasters and then finally the lightsaber and he abandoned his old skills, relegating them to the part of his past he wanted so desperately to forget. Now, that past was no longer years away, but a waking reality. He wasn't as strong as Macen, he wasn't as experienced, but he was far from helpless. As Macen stepped closer, Atton, faking being out of breath and weakened, brought his right booted foot up, catching Macen in the face. He twisted like a snake out of the hands of his captors and launched himself at Macen who hadn't yet recovered. Atton drove his shoulder into the older man's chest, propelling the both of them backward. Patrons dove out of the way as Macen crashed heavily onto a Pazaak table, Atton on top of him.

A kind of madness overtook Atton then. He felt as though all the pain and suffering he had endured over the last few days had come to the fore and he unleashed it against his enemy, purging himself of the vile infection. The anger felt good and clean, honed and tempered at the fire of his hate. He found his hands were around Macen's throat and he didn't stop them from closing and squeezing.

A sudden, blinding flash of pain at his temple and the shattering of glass meant that Macen had found a bottle and had smashed it over Atton's head. Atton went dizzy for a moment and was blinded by the new torrent of blood that poured into his eye. Macen threw him off and he went tumbling to the floor.

"Atton," Macen said, breathing heavily now and rubbing his throat. "Enough, man. You've gone too far."

"The hell I have," Atton said, and spat a wad of blood onto the floor as he got to his feet. "Not far enough," and suddenly he was flying at Macen again, his fury renewed and his vision a haze of ugly red. The big man dodged his first blow but Atton had a half-dozen more at the ready. His Echani training was in his muscles, in his blood, and he no more had to think about his movements and they were already done. He lashed out with his left foot, striking Macen in the stomach. The older man bent double, out of breath and defenseless, and Atton showed no mercy. In a flurry of fluid movements and quick strikes, Macen was down on the floor, bloodied and beaten. Atton would have continued until it was too late, but now the cantina patrons moved en masse and hauled Atton off of him.

"Y-you're c-crazy," Macen croaked through a mouthful of blood.

Atton writhed in the hands of his captors as they dragged him toward the door of the cantina. "You touch her again and I swear I'll kill you. Do you hear me?" Atton screamed. "_I swear_ _I'll fucking kill you!"_

* * *

Dane sat on the bed, her knees pulled up to her chin, and thought about the events of the last few days. Bao-Dur had once told her that if she found things were going horribly wrong and she didn't know why, that she should go back to the time right before they started to fall apart—to a time when things were going well, and look for the reason for the change. Dane thought back to the night she showed Atton how the wound in the Force came to be and how it left its stain on her. That night he had seen what she had been trying so hard to tell him and she had been blissfully happy for he understood why she had to seek Revan. _And the next night was the accident and after the accident, the nightmares. And now, he is like a stranger to me. He is not a stranger, _spoke up another and colder voice. _He is fa—_

"No!" Dane said aloud. _It is not as bad as that. It is not. _And so she told herself that, over and over as the hours passed and still Atton did not come.

Dane was in that twilight place between sleep and awake, huddled in the empty bed, when the door slid open. She started to see Atton's shadow—for the room was dark, lit only by an occasional flash of lightning—step into the room. _I didn't sense him coming. Our bond is so weak…perhaps it is fading. _

"Where have you been?" she asked, though it was a petty, empty question and didn't begin to convey her emotions. She rose from the bed. She wore only a small slip of a nightdress and she shivered, though Dane didn't know if from cold or from something else.

Atton stood, unmoving, by the door. Dane smelled whiskey and cigarra smoke as she drew nearer. "Atton—?"

Her words were cut off as he suddenly seized her and slammed her against the wall. He crushed his lips over hers, his hands around her waist, and his body pressed hard against hers. Despite her fears and apprehensions, Dane found herself responding to his touch. It had been only a week since they'd last made love and she was startled at how badly she hungered for him still.

Dane wound her hands around his neck and entwined her fingers in his hair. There was only the sound of their breaths, stilted and gasping, as they stole the air in the moments when their mouths parted to move, to find another taste. He tasted of whiskey and the smoke and something else…something sweet and metallic but Dane didn't care. She felt a sense of urgency in this moment, as though they were both seeking to become lost in their passion so that the bitter reality would not seep its way in. Atton kissed her hard and she kissed him harder in return.

She was conscious that she was wearing almost nothing—the sleeping dress she wore was no more than a slip and she could feel Atton's hands through the thin material. He still wore his ribbed jacket and she pushed it off of his shoulders and tugged at his shirt, wanting to feel his skin on hers. Atton kissed her throat, her ear, her shoulder and tore at her slip with a sudden violence.

"You're mine," he growled against her neck. He reached down and lifted her leg, hooking it around his waist and running his hand up and under the slip. He pressed himself against her and Dane moaned softly. Then his mouth was on hers again, and again that taste…

_Something wrong…_

Atton moved away from her slightly so that he might fumble at his belt and Dane had just time enough to pause, to catch her breath…and to let reality come crashing in. She touched her fingers to her mouth and they came away wet. She stretched her senses out, using their bond… and she recoiled from what she saw.

Atton, perhaps sensing her disgust, sought to kiss her again, to silence her inevitable questions, but she turned her head.

"No," she whispered, and pressed him back. He brushed her hands away and came at her again. "Atton, stop," she said, louder now. "Stop. _Stop!_" Calling on the Force, Dane shoved Atton away and reached behind her to turn on the light.

He brought the back of his hand up to his mouth and turned away, but too slowly. Dane saw the bruising, the lacerations on his head, and the blood. There was so much blood—smeared under his nose, on his chin, and running in a thin rivulet from a cut on his temple. _And there is still broken glass in his hair, _she thought, disgusted. Now that she was alert to it, she felt his blood on _her, _where he had kissed her; she felt it drying and growing sticky on her neck and chin.

"My god," she breathed.

"Oh, spare me," Atton spat. "It's not like you haven't seen blood before."

Dane closed her eyes for a brief moment, stealing herself for the moments to come. _How has he fallen this far and I have not seen? _For it wasn't just the blood on him that stole her breath away, it was how he'd changed in only a few days. His once-beautiful gray-green eyes were red-rimmed and shadowed. There was no laughter in them, but a cold, hard glint. His face was drawn and pale and more shadows dwelt in the hollows of his cheeks. Scowls and shrewd glances instead of crooked smiles and mischievous winks now marred the whole landscape of his face. Dane thought her heart would break just for looking at him.

"Atton," she said aloud, marveling at how calm her voice sounded in contrast her screaming, raging emotions, "who did this to you? And who," she added, seeing the bruising and redness of his knuckles, "did you do this to?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," was his reply. He walked into the refresher and examined himself.

"It was Macen, wasn't it?" she asked.

Atton snorted and ran his hand through his hair; Dane heard the tinkling of bits of glass as they fell into the sink. "He's always first on your list, isn't he?" he asked bitterly, coldly.

"Damn you, Atton," Dane said and moved to draw on her robe.

"Where are you going?" he demanded, stepping out of the refresher.

"To see if he's all right. To see if you've killed him—"

"I didn't kill him and you're not going out dressed like that."

"Dressed like what?" Dane muttered, tying the outer robe around her torn slip.

"Like a whore. Unless, of course, that's how you usually dress to see him. Is it?"

"You're drunk," Dane returned and moved toward the door. "We'll talk when I get back—"

"No, Dane," Atton said, barring her way.

"Get out of my way, Atton," she warned.

"Or you'll what?" he sneered. "You'll use the Force on me again? Stasis, maybe?"

"If I have to," she returned. Again the thought, _How did it come to this?_

"Fine," Atton said, not moving from the door. "Try it, but know this: if you use the Force against me one more time, we're through."

"Then don't make me do it," Dane said in a fierce whisper. She took a step toward the door, tried to get around him but he blocked her way. Dane called upon the Force and then stopped, her blood turning to ice in her veins, as she saw Atton raise the back of his hand to strike her.

Dane didn't move. Dane didn't flinch. She stood still and locked her eyes on his and screamed as if the volume and ferocity of her words could somehow blow away the terrible reality of him.

"_I will not be afraid of you! I will not!"_

"_You should be!"_ Atton raged back.

A heavy silence descended between them broken only by their heavy breathing. Time seemed to slow to a crawl and they held each other's gaze for long moments.

Finally, Atton broke eye contact and slammed his fist, not at her, but impotently into the wall, and staggered away from the door.

With his sudden action, time sped up again. Dane's mind took off, racing with a thousand different thoughts—all equally horrible—and her heart was pounding against her chest. She clutched the robes around her and stepped away from the door.

"Did you kill him?" she asked in small voice. "I have to know, before we…"

"I told you, I didn't," Atton muttered. He had gone to the window, to gaze out over the blackness outside and the rain that streaked the glass. He pulled out a cigarra from a pack in his pants pocket and lit it. Dane saw his hands trembling and he let out the first drag in a shaking breath.

"That is what you said, but that doesn't make it the truth," Dane said.

Atton looked at her through narrowed eyes. "You calling me a liar?" He snorted. "Funny talk, coming from you."

"I have never lied to you, Atton," Dane said quietly.

"The hell you haven't," he muttered, turning his eyes back to the window. "I know about you and _him_."

Dane crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. "Now it is you, who is lying," she said, still in that same quiet tone, but inside, her heart was thundering in her chest and her mind was racing with fear as she sought for a way to make things right with him again. Dane had been a general in a Republic army; she knew defending herself endlessly would only draw the enemy nearer—_and gods, is he my enemy now?—_and so she attacked. _I have to make him see… _"You can accuse me of whatever you wish, Atton, but you know, through our bond, what is true and what is not."

Atton snorted. "'Our bond.' What bond? I'm not gonna trust the Force when it comes to you, Dane. You can twist it and use it to suit you, to make me look like an ass. Well, no thank you. I know you didn't see Mission the other night. I _know _it and I don't need your 'bond' to tell me otherwise."

His words struck her hard, for she heard in them the same contempt for the Jedi and the Force she had heard when he confessed to her the crimes of his past. _Only I sensed remorse then. I do not sense it now. _

"You are right," she said, "I did not see Mission, I saw Bao-Dur."

"Bao-Dur's _dead_, Dane," he spat. "You must really think I'm stupid."

"No, I think you're falling to the dark side," Dane said.

The words hung in the air like a death knell. She hadn't wanted to say it; she could hardly admit it to herself, let alone speak the words aloud. But there they were, and the room went silent. Atton didn't move and neither did she. Only the smoke from his cigarra, curling up in lazy bluish tendrils, broke the stillness.

Dane expected several different reactions from Atton. She would not have been surprised if he raged at her, called her names, came at her with violence again. But he did not. She sensed his first hatred had been satiated and she prayed silently that Macen was all right. Dane also expected him to deny it flat out, to laugh a cutting laugh and take his turn in calling her stupid. But he did not. Lastly, she would have welcomed him to be cowed at the knowledge, to admit he feared that it was the truth and seek solace with her and the Force. But he did not.

Instead, he appeared as though he was wrestling with some great thought, one that he couldn't put into words. Terrible pain fell over him, like a shadow, and Dane took a step closer to him. He looked defeated, but not broken. She sensed rage in him, but it was directed at himself. And worse, she felt him wrestle with the truth of her words while trying to welcome it at the same time.

"Atton?" she breathed.

He looked up at her and smiled a weak and faltering version of his usually charming crooked smile. "You're right, babe. I have fallen, but it wasn't tonight or yesterday or three days ago." He took a drag off his cigarra and stubbed it out on the floor of the room. "I fell a long time ago, during the war. Or maybe even before then. Maybe there wasn't any falling at all. 'Cause if you're going to fall you have to start somewhere up high, don't you?"

Dane felt tears sliding down her cheeks. She nodded but said nothing.

"Well, I never was up very high, sweets," Atton said, and ran a hand through his hair. "I haven't fallen, not like you think. I can't. I can't because I was already there. _Jaq_ was already there, and Jaq's been around a lot longer than Atton has."

Dane shook her head, and gripped her arms tighter, as though she could keep from falling apart right there in the room. "No, Atton. You changed, I know you did. I know—"

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," Atton said suddenly and Dane saw a spark of anger flicker behind his eyes. "What's done is done. I've pretended to be your stupid, lovesick pilot long enough. During the war, I was someone important, and I forgot that. I forgot it, or became distracted by your pretty face and your body. Or maybe it was your Jedi tricks that hid the truth from me. But now that I've remembered, no one is going to take that away from me again. Including you."

Dane felt as though she could see him slipping away from her and vanishing into the vastness of the universe. And this time, she wasn't going to find him sitting in a Nar Shaddaa cantina waiting for her. _I am going to lose him, but gods, I don't know what to do. _The coldness in his eyes, the hard expression he wore as he lit another cigarra told her that she wasn't going to have any luck turning him. _I need help! I can't do this by myself! And I have to know if he has truly fallen or if there is enough of Atton left that Jaq has not touched. _

Dane stretched out with her senses, using the Force, using their bond. "Do you…" she began, her throat tight, "still love me?"

Atton met her eyes then and Dane thought it was over, that she had lost him. "I don't know Dane, but I don't think it matters anymore," he said. "I'm done. And you're done with me. So let's just…call it a night." The words were terrible to hear but Dane was using the Force and she saw behind them. She saw and felt the duality at war within him—the goodness keeping the ever-encroaching darkness at bay, but losing ground with every moment. _There is hope still, _Dane thought, _I just need time. It is not over yet. _

Thinking quickly, she said, "I am leaving this planet tonight if I have to Force Persuade every Selkath on it to do so. But I need a pilot still." Atton snorted and made to retort but Dane held up a hand. "You owe it to me, Atton," she said. "You owe me at least that. Fly the _Hawk _to Coruscant for me and then you…" Dane swallowed hard, "then you can go."

Atton seemed to ponder this for a moment, his eyes narrow in the haze of smoke. "Yeah, all right," he said finally. "One last job but that's it."

"That's it," Dane agreed. _All right, now what? _She began to dress in her Jedi robes and tan leggings. Four days ago, she wouldn't have thought twice about it; now, she was suddenly uncomfortable doing so in his presence and the whole awfulness of the situation threatened to crash over her. She forced herself to stay focused and not let her roiling emotions out lest he decide to back out of their deal.

"I'm going to gather the others and tell them that we leave Manaan tonight," Dane told him. "If you would please go to the _Ebon Hawk_ and prepare for our departure…"

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Atton said. "Just let me finish this smoke and I'll head out."

Dane nodded, unsure if she could trust him. _Of course you can't trust him, but you really don't have a choice. _"All right, I'll meet you at the ship in half an hour," she said warily.

"I'll be there. And hey, Dane?"

She stopped at the door, her heart in her throat. "Yes?"

"Sorry I let you down," he said, not looking at her. He barked a dry, harsh laugh. "I guess that old bag Kreia was right after all."

"Right about what?" Dane whispered.

Atton looked at her and in the dim light of the room, Dane swore she saw unshed tears stand out in his eyes…there and gone again. "That I was just a fool to think that…ah, never mind. Go. Not that it's worth much, but I give you my word I'll be at the _Hawk _in half an hour."

"Thank you, Atton," she said and left the room.

Once outside in the hallway Dane fell back against the wall, one had clapped over her mouth. She choked back a torrent of sobs and took several steadying breaths to calm herself. _Just get him to Coruscant, just do that. The Jedi there will help him. They have to help him, oh my poor love, someone help him…_

* * *

It has come to my attention that this site frowns upon responding to reviewers. I have, therefore, started a Live Journal that I hope you can access from my profile page. I have replied to all of you there. If, for some reason, it doesn't work, (and god knows I'm no genius when it comes to URLs and links and shite like that) then I'll figure something else out. 

OK, so this chap marks the end of the second part and the finale chapters are to follow. Thanks for following with me and sticking to it.

I've changed the description, by the way.(Don't want to get sued for false advertising). Anyway, thanks to you all and I hope you enjoyed this one and the rest to come.

Love ya!


	32. The Wound's Answer

**Part III **

**Chapter 32**

**The Wound's Answer**

Lanik Thrakill forced himself to walk at a normal pace and with an upright posture, when every instinct he had told him to keep to the shadows and to hurry. A light drizzle of rain fell from the blackened sky and Lanik's only concession to his instincts was to allow himself to keep the cowl pulled low over his head, to stay out of it. _You're a noble, upstanding Jedi Master with nothing to hide, remember? _he thought snidely. _You are _not _a dark Jedi Sith on his way to commit murder. _

The fact that he was, indeed, a dark Jedi Sith on his way to commit murder cheered him a bit. His mood had been thoroughly soured as of late for it had proven to be more difficult to disentangle himself from Bastila than he thought. Three days had passed and he only now found the time to sneak to the med facility and finish Dustil Onasi. _And time is of the essence—the Exile is coming. _Lanik scowled as he made his way from the Jedi Temple to the Republic med facility. Fortunately, Dustil's condition had not changed at all—he remained comatose and silent. _Too bad I can't say the same for Bastila._

Lanik's scowl darkened as the immense med facility came into view. _This is undignified and beneath me, _he thought. Lanik took great pride in his manipulations and plans; the fact that Dustil had discovered him peeved him terribly. _That is something that would happen to Lirik. _But Lirik was, by all reports, having tremendous success in turning the Exile's lover to the dark side and Lanik felt his temper begin to rise. The fact that his twin should be achieving in his ventures while Lanik toiled and suffered was just another insult added to the injury, so that by the time Lanik stepped across the med facility's threshold, he was more than ready to put an end to the young Jedi.

_I will make you suffer, Dustil, if I have to wake you up just so that you feel the pain._

Lanik smoothed his expression and made his face placid as he entered the building. He assumed what he hoped was a mask of Jedi modesty and smiling condescension as he approached security. He had made numerous—and endlessly tedious, to his thinking—visits to Dustil's room in the company of Bastila; the personnel at the facility knew him by sight if not by name. He expected to have little trouble with them. He was right.

"Can never give up, especially where the Force is concerned," he said by way of explanation for this visit at this late hour to the security personnel—a young man in his late twenties.

"Good luck to you, Master Jedi," the guard said reverentially. Lanik could tell the guard, like every other insipid Republic officer he had encountered, was brimming with concern for his Admiral and all wished for Dustil to make a speedy recovery. _Such bald-faced devotion would never be tolerated among the Sith. Such weakness…_

As Lanik stepped out of the turbolift and made his way to Dustil's room, his irritation increased for no Republic officer exhibited more devotion to Admiral Onasi, than Deke Targan. _That fool is _still _hovering outside the door? Does he never sleep? Eat? Take a piss?_

The red-haired officer was standing nearly at attention in front of Dustil's hospital room door, his hand resting lightly on the Republic-issue hold-out blaster on his hip.

Lanik forced a smile onto his face. "Good evening, Lieutenant Targan," he said, assuming a low, whispering tone. Several other armed guards stood at attention at precisely matched intervals around the outer perimeter of the room. An attack on a Fleet officer's family—especially on a beloved Admiral's only son, was taken very seriously. Lanik wasn't perturbed by their presence—for what he was about to do would raise no alarm. He nodded deferentially in their direction and looked at Deke.

The young Lieutenant appeared tired and drawn, but resolute as well. _No doubt suffering exquisitely for his Admiral. _

"Please tell me Admiral Onasi has taken the advice of those who care for him and has retired for some sleep?" Lanik asked. He could still commit his little murder with Carth in the room—the Admiral was not a Force-sensitive—and Lanik rather liked the idea of witnessing the man's first grief when he realized son was gone. However, in terms of practicality, it would be much safer if Lanik could work alone. He was therefore pleased with Deke's reply.

"I'm afraid not," the young man replied heavily. "But he has gone to take a walk, to get some air."

A slow smile spread over Lanik's lips. "Wonderful."

"Unless Master Juhani convinces him to get some rest, I expect they'll be back soon."

The smile vanished. _Juhani? Damn that Cathar bitch. I _so_ hate to be rushed. _He sighed. "Very well. I shall see if I cannot effect any changes in dear Dustil's condition."

"Thank you, Master Thrakill," Deke said, with a slight inclination of his head. "It is good of you to come so late."

"Yes, _good _of me indeed," Lanik muttered and entered Dustil's room thinking his mood could not sink any lower. He was wrong. Dustil's condition, apparently, _had_ improved since Lanik had seen him last. The breathing tube that had been down his throat had been removed and much of the bruising around his eyes had lightened. His head was still swathed in white bandages but some color had returned to his skin as well.

_Wonderful. Then next thing you know, he'll be sitting up and singing Corellian opera. No, no, this won't do at all. _

The med droid's latest data pad hung off bed frame. Lanik picked it up and absently scrolled through it. Every now and again he came across a sentence that pleased him.

_…The longer patient remains in coma, the greater the degree of possible brain damage.._

_…even with removal of breathing tube, patient's neuro-patterns unchanged…_

_Extensive (and perhaps) irreversible damage to the occipital lobe—patient's family await arrival of Jedi powerful in healing to effect change…_

Lanik snorted at that and tossed the datapad aside. He drew up a chair on one side of the bed, opposite Carth's empty one. Lanik settled his robes about him and leaned over the unconscious man's face. Dustil's breathing was shallow but steady. With a surreptitious glance at the closed door, Lanik bent over and whispered into Dustil's ear.

"I would so love to wake you so that you might fully appreciate the pain I am about to inflict, but sadly, I haven't the time. I'm sorry to say, Dustil, but you fucked with the wrong Sith, my boy. I—"

Lanik's speech was cut abruptly short for, as he said the word 'Sith', Dustil's eyes suddenly flew open and the young man gasped—a sharp, hissing intake of breath. Lanik flew back and nearly fell out of his chair, he was so startled. He rose shakily to his feet and regarded Dustil.

The young man was hyperventilating and his mouth was working as though he were trying to speak, but only little croaks escaped his injured throat. But it was his eyes Lanik was drawn to. Dustil's large brown eyes darted around frantically… and blankly. It seemed to Lanik that they could not focus on anything and the dark Jedi wondered if Dustil were not coming out of his coma, but was having some sort of fit or convulsion instead.

"L-lan…," Dustil croaked and the dark Jedi recognized his own name—he was used to hearing tortured versions of it from his victims.

_This is not good. Not good at all, _he thought. Aloud he murmured, "So you _are_ awake," and watched, fascinated, as Dustil's eyes sought the sound of his voice. Though Lanik was standing over him in plain view, the young Jedi's eyes did not focus on him, but continued their panicked search. Lanik waved a hand inches from Dustil's nose but the young man did not focus on it; his eyes did not trace the movement of his hand, but seemed not to see it at all.

_How lovely…he's blind. _

"Ahh, had I more time and had you not had a tongue to speak with, I would savor this moment even more," Lanik said, resuming his seat. "I would have enjoyed watching you fumble around in the dark for a week or two, but alas, I can't have you saying my name again."

Dustil flinched at the sound of Lanik's voice and the young man's hands clenched and unclenched the bedsheet—but weakly. His blankly staring eyes were starting to close and Lanik sensed the strength was leaving him and he was sinking back into sleep. _But next time he will wake up stronger, and perhaps that throat of his will obey him and betray me. I cannot allow a next time…_

Lanik closed his eyes and was about to call on the Force to finish the job he had begun in the alley, when the door to Dustil's room slid open. Lanik nearly flew out of his chair for the second time as Carth Onasi stepped inside. On his heels, was the Cathar Jedi and Lanik released the Force before she could sense the dark energy.

_Son of a mother-loving rancor bitch in heat,_ Lanik cursed to himself—rather nonsensically—and forced a smile.

"Lanik," Carth muttered by way of greeting. Neither he nor Juhani appeared happy and Lanik, fighting to keep his rage at bay, understood that Juhani had likely been unsuccessfully attempting to get the Admiral to rest.

"Admiral," Lanik said through clenched teeth. He looked at the Cathar. "Master Juhani."

"Good evening, Master Thrakill," Juhani said with a tight smile. "Why have you come? More healing?"

He wasn't their favorite person, he knew. Carth didn't like anyone these days and Juhani had leveled numerous disapproving glances at he and Bastila since her arrival, and made clear her dislike of him.

The feeling was mutual.

Lanik, still on his quest to coax out of Bastila her deep, dark secret, was thwarted by Juhani's constant presence. It seemed the Cathar was a strict observer of the Code's regulations regarding Jedi taking a mate and so never wasted an opportunity to remind Bastila of that fact. That didn't stop Bastila from seeking out Lanik's company every other minute, but made her more conflicted and reclusive when she was with him. The end results, in Lanik's view, were only a thorough test of his ability to control his temper and wasted time.

Lanik nodded in response to her query and was about to say more when a soft moan from Dustil immediately brought Carth and Juhani rushing to his bedside. Lanik closed his eyes to the fresh wave of rage that washed over him for Dustil seemed determined to thwart him still. Normally Lanik enjoyed such sensations of hatred but now, deprived of an opportunity to vent, he could only seethe silently as Juhani and Carth tried to coax Dustil to consciousness.

"Dustil?" Carth said, taking up his son's hand in his. "Dustil, I'm here. Can you wake up? Open your eyes, son. Please."

As Lanik had known, Dustil's strength was leaving him and he sank slowly back into sleep. But the damage had been done. He bit his tongue and watched Carth and Juhani exchange relieved and hopeful glances and then nearly ran for the door when they turned those glances at him.

"You healed him, Lanik," Carth said, his voice low with emotion. "Whatever you did, it helped. Thank you."

"The Force is strong with you, Master Thrakill," Juhani added, beaming with pride, as though he was her Padawan. "Well done."

_Oh, the irony, _Lanik thought. _At any other time, this might have been comical…_

He had never, in his entire life, been more thankful that his twin was not with him than that moment; he would never have heard the end of it. Lanik only nodded and waved his hand in what he hoped looked like a modest gesture.

The others turned to fawning over Dustil again and the dark Jedi considered his options. He could likely kill Carth without too much hassle—the man was undoubtedly a good fighter, but his guard was down and he hadn't the Force. The Cathar would give him more trouble, and while Lanik was confident he could best her, the ensuing racket would call the guards.

_One Jedi, one aging soldier, and one nearly comatose boy…On my worse day, I could do it with my eyes closed. But five guards too? _

Lanik rose to his feet, hoping the ugly expression on his face would be taken for weariness. He hadn't survived as long as he had without knowing when it was time to admit defeat—temporary though it may be. _Jude and Darth Tertius will be here soon, _he thought, and_ let's just hope that insufferable brat keeps his mouth shut until then, or perhaps another opportunity will present itself. _

He looked to Carth and Juhani. "I am very tired now," he stated dully. "I shall retire."

"Again, thanks Lanik," Carth said seriously. "I owe you. It's the first time he's moved…"

"Not at all, not at all," Lanik said, disgusted by the older man's show of emotion. The grateful expressions on both their faces was the last straw and so he decided, after a night of disappointment, to take some measure of comfort in the evening.

"Yes, Dustil is on the road to recovery," he said, pausing at the door. "But I suspect that he's blind." Lanik watched with pleasure as their expressions fell.

"Blind?" Carth asked, incredulous. "Wha…How do you know?"

"He opened his eyes for a bit but he could not focus. I waved my hand before him and his eyes did not follow it."

"That proves nothing," Juhani said, all of her animosity towards him returned. "It may be that he was not fully conscious."

"I'm afraid that he was." Lanik shrugged. "He took a wonderfully strong blow to the back of the head. It happens." He watched as all of the hope drained out of Carth. The Admiral took up Dustil's hand again, patting it gently, a lost and bewildered expression on his tired face.

Juhani scowled but Lanik saw the heartbreak in her eyes too.

What a pair of saps. I was doing Dustil a favor, putting him out of his misery and sparing him their insipid company, Lanik thought sourly. Imparting that bit of news, while transiently enjoyable, wasn't enough to bolster his spirits. He left them to bemoan Dustil's fate without another word. He stormed past Deke Targan, ignoring the man's 'good night' and exited the med facility. 

_Lirik, where the hell are you? _he sent to his brother as he marched down the darkened streets to the Jedi Temple. _I am running out of time…_

"_We're on our way, brother," _came Lirik's reply. "_The Exile is only now rounding up the crew to leave."_

_Taking her time about it, is she?_ Lanik remarked. _Inform Jude Gracus as to your status. _

He felt his brother's ire, swift and hot. _"Why don't you do it?" _Lirik whined. _"We're going to leave at any moment, and besides, you know how much I hate that whor—"_

_Lirik! _screamed Lanik. _Just do it! It's been a long and trying night. Make the damn report. I'm going to bed._

Lirik continued to argue but Lanik ignored him and finally, as he threw himself onto his little cot in his cell in the Temple, he felt his brother's resigned acquiescence. _Fine…but it will be supremely short…_

Lanik tuned out the last of his brother's complaints and contemplated his predicament. He was mildly concerned that Dustil was going to regain enough faculties to rat him out, but the fact that Jude was coming, and bringing Darth Tertius, soothed him somewhat.

_Because after they arrive, it won't matter anyway, _he thought, and lay down to sleep. But no matter how he tried to comfort himself, no matter how many scenarios of destruction and death to the Jedi around him he imagined, sleep would not come and his unease remained. _Bastila, _he thought, suddenly. _Her secret. _Suddenly Lanik knew the source of his worry. _Tomorrow, she will tell me. She will tell me or I will choke the life out of her and suffer the consequences…_

Tomorrow's activities set and planned, Lanik finally fell asleep.

* * *

"_Nice outfit. What, you miners change regulation uniforms while I was in here?"_

Dane closed her eyes briefly against the memory before continuing her hurried race through Ahto City. It was late in the night and the silver corridors were quiet. Only the ceaseless pelting of the rain on the domes and ceilings broke the silence—the rain, and Dane's own fractured breathing. She forced herself to focus so that she would not waste valuable time in becoming lost. She was sure that the med facility—for she sensed Macen was there—was close.

_"Something up?"_

_My love..._

"_All right. What did you want to know?"_

_  
Stop it! _Dane thought, wondering at the shrieking quality of her own panicked thoughts. _He is not dead…_ She made a left turn down one silent hall, and then a right down another. The med facility was near…

_"I'm as Atton as Atton will ever be…"_

"No," Dane moaned softly, tears now coursing down her cheeks. She had never, in all of her thirty years, felt as undone as she did at that moment, running down the silent corridors of the Selkath homeworld. _Enough! Find the facility, find Macen, then get out! Get help for him, oh my poor love…_

Another corner and then she saw it, up ahead. Lights were on and she sensed, through her panicked thoughts, activity in the facility. She quickened her step.

"_Whatever I have, whatever I am—I'm offering it to you."_

Dane swayed and had to stop, to lean against the wall for support as her legs tried to betray her and give way. _NO! _she screamed silently at the memories. _This is not over yet! _But the events of the last few weeks had settled on her mind, in her consciousness, and threatened to overwhelm her. The violence, the death, the pain…she had faced worse in the war but the fact of Atton's turning had cast a shadow over everything that had come to pass; soured it, tainted it beyond the reality of experience. She felt the wound in her, the wound left by the Force, and it seemed to twist and writhe, as though feeding on the terrible energy.

_It is because of my love for him, _she thought, trying to draw steadying breaths, one hand propping herself against the city wall. _He is a part of my life's energy…since that night I showed him the wound, since the night he saw and we were bonded. His taint is mine now too…_

It was why the calming influence of the Force seemed far away from her. It was why her breath was gasping and her hands trembled as though a palsy had gripped her, and she could not steady either. She was not turned to the dark side, but the darkness that touched Atton reached her through their bond. She wanted only to go to him, to use the healing methods she and Jolee had been working on, and suck the dark taint out of him and into herself, into the wound. It was not possible, she knew—that was not the way of it

She had to heal Macen before they could leave.

_Why? There is no time! _screamed a voice but the answer came not from Dane but from the wound in her. It demanded it. _An end to suffering, _she thought, clutching her stomach with one hand. _To close the wound…atonement…restitution…for every wounded person I heal brings me closer…every life I restore to the Force, the wound grows smaller…_

Dane started at these thoughts for she had never contemplated such things. But now, stripped raw and alone, she understood them as the truth, as the answer. _That is why I seek Revan. To stop her or help her end the taking of life…And before I go, I will heal Macen… and Dustil on Coruscant…it is the answer. Make amends to the Force for what I have taken…Malachor…_. _And Atton's falling… my fault, all my fault…must make amends…_

Dane waited until a wave of nausea past and then continued in a halting, stumbling gate to the med facility. She found Macen there, as she knew she would, arguing weakly and painfully with the Selkath and med droids who hovered around him.

"You're not sticking me with that or anything else!" Dane heard him inform one syringe-wielding med droid. She pushed her way into the room and her already fractured emotions cracked again as she saw him.

He was sitting, doubled over, on the edge of a gurney, his face a mess of blood and swelled tissue—so badly marred that he was hardly recognizable. His white shirt splashed dark red and his breathing was labored. He struggled weakly against the Selkath and the droids in what was a losing battle to escape the facility, and Dane could sense the pain that tore through his body with every movement.

_My god, Atton, what did you do? _

Without a word, before Macen even realized she was there, Dane laid her hands on him and channeled the Force. Her hands were shaking so badly, she wondered if she was focused enough for it to work, but instantly, Macen's injuries lessened and his breathing became easier. He smiled gratefully, his eyes closed with relief in a brief moment of happiness in which there was no pain… and then the reality of the events of the night crashed back in. Macen's expression darkened as he took the cloth one med droid offered him and wiped the blood off his face.

"He's not right, Dane," Macen said from under the cloth. "He's snapped or something, I don't know. I've half a mind to find him now and—"

"Macen…"Dane said in a small voice that cut off his angered threats. She stood, her arms wrapped around herself, her hands clutching at her robes to stop them from trembling. He looked at her, really looked at her for the first time. He looked at the blood drying on her face and neck, her hair a tangled mess, and the harrowed darkness to her eyes. His expression grew incredulous and then enraged as he studied her face. She knew what he assumed even before he spoke.

"What did he do to you, Dane?" he asked in a menacingly low voice. "Did he…hit you?"

She shook her head. "The blood is his," she murmured. Her eyes flickered to the one Selkath and two med droids hovering nearby. "Let us leave here, please. I have to hurry."

Macen nodded and followed her out of the facility. Once they had walked a ways down the darkened and quiet hallway, he stopped and took her arm.

"Tell me," he said simply.

"There is no time," Dane protested weakly. "I have to go."

"With him?" Macen demanded. "He tried to kill me, Dane. He's not right. Something—"

"_Don't you think I know that?"_ Dane cried in a vain effort to rid some of the heavy weight that had settled over her.

"Dane, sshh," Macen soothed, taking hold of her trembling hands. "Tell me what happened. Please. I can't let you leave with…_him_ unless I know you're going to be safe."

Dane held his hands tightly, wanting—needing to feel something real. "He's falling to the dark side, Macen," she whispered. "He is and I don't know what to do."

Macen's eyes widened. "What? The dark side…Are you sure?"

Dane nodded and a fresh wave of grief and panic swept over her. _You need to focus, to calm down,_ said a voice that was quickly drowned by another. _No, oh gods, someone has to help him, please. Get help. I need help!_

"How did this happen?" Macen asked.

"I don't know. I wasn't protecting him. I promised I'd protect him from harm if he was to come with me, and I didn't do it. I didn't. And now…oh gods, Macen," Dane covered her face with her hands as a powerful wave of grief and fear uncoiled itself in her stomach. She bent slightly with the force of it, sobbing violently. "My love, my poor love…"

"Hey, hey," Macen said, pulling Dane towards him and wrapping his arms around her. "It's all right, we'll figure this out. It's all right."

Dane allowed herself to be comforted but only for a moment. "No, it's not all right. I feel like I'm coming apart. I…I just feel so sick over it…" And as though to illustrate her point, Dane suddenly clapped a hand to her mouth, her face draining of color. She dashed to the nearest waste receptacle and Macen turned his back to afford her some privacy as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the bin.

Dane braced herself on the receptacle and took several steadying breaths. _Now is not the time for panic. You have to hurry and get help! _She nodded to herself at the thought. She was slightly better, more stable, and though her hands trembled still, it was as though she had purged herself of some of the poison that had tormented her thinking.

Dane wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve and stood up. She returned to where Macen was standing—in the darkened silvery hallways of Ahto City. It was very late and the only sound was the rain pelting the ceiling above them.

"I'm sorry, these last few days have been very…trying," Dane said, struggling to regain her composure. "Are you well? Do you need further healing?"

"Ah, don't pull this with me, Dane," Macen said. "Don't talk to me like some Jedi. _You're_ not doing well. That's plain enough. I know you love him but he's…" Macen seemed to rethink his words. "You can't just run away from here and hope that's going to make things better."

"I'm not running away," Dane retorted. "I've stayed here too long already. I have to get Atton to Coruscant. I need the Jedi there to help me."

"Let me go with you, to help _you_," Macen said, taking a step toward her.

"No," Dane said, backing away. "You can't come with me, it's not safe," she added, seeing his expression darken. "You are somehow tied to this… Atton…" She shook her head and let her words trail.

"Dane, if you could see yourself now…" Macen said. "Don't do this alone."

"It's all right. _I'll _be all right. I'm sorry you had to witness my first grief. The realization of what has happened to Atton is fresh on me and so I panicked. But I'm okay now, I promise," Dane said in a rush. She hurriedly flung her arms around him. "Take care of yourself and I'll always think well of you." _Always, my friend, I'm sorry it ended like this…_

Dane pulled away, and, without looking at him lest her composure again fall away, she dashed down the silent hallway and away from him without another word.

Macen watched her go and his head reeled for everything that had happened so fast. It seemed to him that time had compressed, that one moment he was turning around to Atton's fist in his face, and the next Dane was hugging him goodbye. _And somewhere in between, Atton fell to the dark side? _Macen frowned. _Just like that? I don't think so. _

He was about to chase after Dane, to stop her from leaving—or at least stop her from leaving without _him_—when he heard the soft padding of footsteps drawing near. He paused, thinking—hoping—that it was Dane coming back, but it was not. It was Lirik Thrakill. Macen watched as the young Jedi dashed across the hallway before him, toward Ahto's only restaurant. He didn't see Macen in the shadows, but seemed preoccupied and upset—an ugly scowl marred his features.

Macen watched Lirik hurry into the dining area and then disappear into the rear of the restaurant. Macen raised an eyebrow. It was the latest and darkest part of the night. The restaurant was closed and would remain so for hours yet. The restaurant was also, Macen knew, part of what had once been a Sith base and much of that stronghold the Selkath hadn't touched.

Before Macen could fathom what Lirik was doing there, and as he pondered whether or not to see for himself, the Jedi came dashing back out of the restaurant. The scowl on his face had deepened and he raced by quickly without even glancing Macen's way.

Macen's instinct was to hurry to Dane, to try to protect her from whatever new madness had befallen her and Atton, but he found himself creeping into the restaurant instead.

The interior was very dark but he made his way through the dining area, past the kitchens, and through a door at the very back. The door was open and Macen stepped cautiously through it, and found himself in a very large chamber that was filled with the looming black shapes of machinery and storage boxes. Here, the blackness lessened, as a small green glow emanated from around one particularly large box.

Macen followed the light and saw that it came from a computer console, the screen of which was marked with green text. On top of the console was a communicator that hissed static. It's user—_Lirik, _Macen thought—had neglected to turn it off. Macen tried to use it, to see if he could learn who the young Jedi had been speaking to, but the static persisted. Macen set it aside and studied the console.

It was a search screen, Macen saw—an apparent database of Sith personnel. He shivered involuntarily and wondered what Lirik might have possibly found useful in here. A flat green line was blinking invitingly at him, and so Macen, thinking of the events of the night, typed in the name "Atton Rand."

The search reported that there was no one listed in the database under that name, but did offer a "Jaq Rand." _Jaq…_ Macen thought. He'd heard that name before but couldn't place where. While his mind sought to recall the name, his finger touched the key that selected "Jaq Rand" and Macen sucked in his breath as the screen changed. Atton's picture appeared in the upper left corner and Macen whistled between his teeth. He suddenly knew—and remembered exactly—where he had heard that name before. _That droid HK-47 called him Master Jaq. The assassin droid…_

Macen nearly tore out of the Sith base after Dane, to warn her about Atton, to tell her that he hadn't turned to the dark side, but had already been there—that he was a Sith, but for some reason he did not. Not yet.

Without knowing exactly why, Macen returned to the search screen on the console and where the little blinking dash asked for a name, he typed in a new one. The screen complied with his search and filled itself with data. A picture of a handsome young man appeared in the left-hand corner.

"Holy gods…"he breathed, his eyes scanning over the data below the image. His heart began to pound in his chest and then he _did _race out of the base as fast as he was able.

Macen Vorn ran out of the restaurant, down the silent halls of Ahto City and out into the driving rain, toward the dock. A group of Selkath officials were cursing and muttering in their burbling language and Macen let loose a vile oath himself as he watched the _Ebon Hawk _tear into the night sky and then vanish.

The sky. Macen looked up and saw that the storm was receding. The rain still fell in heavy sheets, but the lightning had ceased.

_No lightning…_Macen could think of half a dozen friends he had made here who were counting the seconds until they could leave Manaan, but for the lightning. He was sure one or more of them would be willing to give him a ride.

Even if Coruscant wasn't in their plans…

* * *

Dane sat in the main hold of the _Ebon Hawk, _her head in her hands and her elbows on the table. 

Mission sat nearby, curled up against Zaalbar. The Twi'lek didn't speak, but sat staring at nothing in particular, slow tears coursing down her cheeks. The appearance of Atton on board the ship drained what little energy she had mustered once she knew she was going to see Dustil again. She had watched with wide, shocked eyes as Atton entered and headed straight for the cockpit without so much as a word of greeting. Something had told her to stay away from him and so she had, preferring to wait until Dane arrived to get her answers.

_How did this happen? _Mission despaired, but Dane was in no position to enlighten her. The Jedi woman had never looked more undone than she did as she came aboard the _Hawk_. Her hair was a mess, and there was dried blood smeared on her chin and neck. But it was her defeated and hopeless demeanor that worried Mission the most. Dane appeared lost and the Twi'lek regretted that she hadn't the facility to comfort the woman.

Mission curled up tighter beside Zaalbar and tried not to think about the fact that Atton had indeed fallen to the dark side—or was well on his way…and he was also flying the ship.

Jolee Bindo, however, had no such qualms about bringing that subject up.

"Can you trust him?" he asked Dane in a persistent, yet gentle tone.

"No, but what else are we going to do?" Dane asked dully. "Can you fly this freighter, Jolee?"

The older man had pressed his lips together in a thin line.

"Well, then," Dane said only, and retreated to her thoughts. But Mission could see that Jolee wasn't having that. He gently took the Exile by the arm and pulled her to her feet.

"Come. You're getting some sleep now," he ordered. Dane shrugged and allowed herself to be led out of the room. "I'll speak with Atton myself," Mission heard the old man grumble as he led the Exile away. "See if I can't talk sense into that fool head of his…"

Mission wondered if she should try to help too, but scoffed at the notion immediately. _Like he would listen to you. _And besides, Dane had Atton to worry over. Mission had Dustil.

Dustil.

Just thinking his name brought a fresh round of gentle sobs.

"What happened to him, Big Z?" she asked, snuggling closer to the Wookiee. Her tears fell into his thick, long hair and became lost. "I can't imagine anyone getting the best of him. He was so strong and so skilled…" Her face crumpled and she clutched her friend's arm tighter. "Is he going to be all right?"

"_Jolee and Dane will heal him,"_ the Wookiee replied in his deep grumbling tongue.

"Only if we get to him in time," Mission countered sleepily.

Zaalbar shifted against her and she felt the pressure of his arm around her tighten. _"The young man is a warrior,"_ he said. "_He has great strength of mind and body. He will not give up."_

"I hope you're right, Big Z," Mission said. Her eyes would no longer stay open and the thrum of the _Ebon Hawk's _engines was soothing. "I hope you're right, 'cause all of a sudden, I can't imagine life without him. Funny, since I hardly know him, you know?"

Zaalbar listened to Mission mumble herself to sleep. Though it was late, the Wookiee himself could not find sleep. Too much was occurring around him. The pilot had a dark shadow over him; had they been on Kashyyyk, Zaalbar's tribe would force Atton to the surface, out from under the canopy of trees, so that he might feel the sun on his face.

The old man, usually sure of himself, wasn't, the Wookiee knew. The darkness unsettled him, but Jolee was one who the Wookiees would have considered dwelt halfway between the sun and the shadow of the trees, and he had little advice to offer on one or the other.

The newcomer, Lirik, retreated to the port dormitory immediately, speaking to no one. The droids—T3-M4 and HK-47—tooled around aimlessly or made sarcastic, whining complaints that all ignored, respectively. No one paid much attention to the lot of them, so Zaalbar decided he would.

The Jedi woman's spirit was troubled and Zaalbar imagined he could see a black, oily line snaking between her and the pilot. They were somehow joined, he knew, and Atton's torment was shared with her.

Zaalbar growled to himself and laid his hand on his bowcaster. Too much unrest. Too much bad energy. The Wookiee would not sleep that night, but keep an eye out.

_Like the endless rain on Manaan was a bad omen, _he thought, _here, on this ship, many bad omens…_

* * *

Jolee Bindo stepped slowly into the cockpit and cleared his throat to alert Atton to his presence. 

"Something up?" Atton muttered.

"Just wanted to check in with you," Jolee offered, taking another step. "You mind if an old man sits a spell?" he asked, indicating the chair besides Atton.

"Yes," the pilot said dourly. "Take off, old man. I know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to work."

Jolee bristled, even as he recoiled at the shadows that had fallen over the man and the acid that was in his voice. "Oh yeah?" Jolee asked, taking the seat anyway. "And what's that?"

"The usual," Atton muttered, his eyes on the blackness of space and the streaking stars. "Pretend to be my friend. Save it. I've had enough Jedi manipulation to last me a lifetime."

"Well, aren't you smart. You think—"

Atton twisted in his pilot's chair and stared Jolee down with a black and frightening look in his gray-green eyes. "Get out, old man," he said with venom. "I meant what I said. I don't want you here. I have a job to do and I'm going to do it and that's it, you got me?"

Jolee felt his temper rise, but he realized there would be little value in continuing this conversation. He considered himself a wise and learned man on many subjects, but he had neither the patience nor the facility for walking someone out of the darkness. His methods consisted of little more than reprimanding the person into using their common sense. Seemed appropriate to his thinking, but his success rate was very low. _Not that I've had much experience…_

"All right, boy," Jolee said, getting to his feet. "You sit here and stew in your own anger for awhile," he said. "But while you curse the Jedi up, down, and sideways, ask yourself one thing."

"What's that?" Atton asked, challenging.

Jolee leaned forward so that his face was close to the pilot's. "Ask yourself why you still wear that 'saber?"

He watched in satisfaction as the smug glimmer in Atton's eyes fell for a moment.

"Yeah, I thought so," Jolee muttered and left the cockpit. "There's hope foryou yet."

* * *

Jude Gracus watched as the three squads of dark Jedi filed onboard the small vessel. The ship, a stolen merchant freighter dubbed—ironically enough to Jude—the _Fast Lady,­_ was smaller than she'd have liked. Twenty-four dark Jedi was a small number in her thinking, but then she thought of Darth Tertius, already on board, and a slow smile spread across her lips. 

She was a tiny woman, short and lithe, with a thick coil of auburn hair she kept tightly braided, every strand mercilessly pulled back into place. The style gave her a rather severe expression that belied the raw, malicious energy that raged through her. Her brown eyes were afire with what she was about to do—with the death that would soon be dealt at her hands.

"Is all ready?" the count spoke suddenly from her side, startling her from images of Jedi falling to her red, double-bladed lightsaber in delicious screams of agony.

"Yes, my lord," Jude replied in a cool, calm voice that also disguised her wicked enthusiasms. It was this combination of steely efficiency and red-blooded desire to serve the dark side that made her one of the Sith's most formidable officers. "All is ready. Darth Tertius is aboard."

"Any word from the twins?" the count asked with obvious ire.

"I received an extremely short report from Lirik," Jude replied. "The Exile in en route to Coruscant. Their should arrive the day after tomorrow…and we'll already be there."

The count gave a close approximation of a smile. "Carry on then, Jude," he said.

Jude Gracus bowed low and started to make her way on board the _Fast Lady _herself when the count's words stopped her.

"You know, on second glance, that ship looks terribly small," he said. "Are you certain you have enough dark Jedi to accomplish your task? I will tolerate nothing short of total victory, you understand."

"Oh yes, my lord," Jude said with a sharp and twisted smile. "And if three squads aren't enough, Darth Tertius will be."

* * *

Notes to reviewers are on the homepage. I forgot to note that so if some of you got this alert twice, so sorry. 


	33. Before the Storm

_**Author's note: As promised, first the sex, and then the violence. Enjoy. **__**( Spot the little shout-out to Yoda.) ;)  
**_

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* * *

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**Chapter 33**

**Before the Storm**

Bastila Shan could not sleep. The Exile was arriving in the morning and Dustil's condition showed no sign of improving despite his one brief foray into consciousness. These notions were to her as immense boulders tumbling down a hill after her. Her petty fears and guilt and shame were as the pebbles under her feet that kept her off-balance, unable to run away so as to gain some perspective. Instead, she merely slipped and slid, knowing that every moment spent such was another moment lost to indecision and weakness—and those boulders were going to come crashing over her in the meanwhile.

Irritated, Bastila threw off her covers and paced her small cell. _Jolee and the Exile will help Dustil. Jolee spoke of a healing technique, something new. It will work. _But a nagging doubt lingered and she stumbled again, feeling no peace but only anxiety for Carth. _Losing Arax was hard enough. Not fair he should lose his only son as well. _

The second boulder—the arrival of the Exile—twisted Bastila's stomach into knots and a thousand thoughts clamored in her mind. _She will scorn me for not assisting her…she will demand to lead the Council and I will let her…she will see my old weakness, that I turned, and never trust me…_ The logical part of Bastila told her that these thoughts were silly and pointless and served only to keep her from her sleep.

"But it is no good saying them to myself," she protested aloud, to her empty room, and the crushing loneliness washed over her. _I would give much for some companionship, for a person with whom I may speak and dispel these silly notions… _

Bastila had had such thoughts before and they inevitably led to one name.

The Jedi Master threw on her robe and left her cell in quick, measured strides. _Enough of this game. I will speak to him, tell him everything that torments me for he is the only one who has felt my unrest and is willing to help. Why should I be lonely another minute when he has offered me his counsel, his ear, and his friendship? _

Bastila repeated these thoughts like a mantra against the Code whose verses sought to creep into her thoughts, for she knew perfectly well that Lanik had offered much more than a chaste shoulder to cry on. But she did not care anymore. A recklessness born of loneliness had descended over her and she continued down the hall, the Code be damned. She found herself outside his door and, without consideration of the late hour, she knocked loudly.

A tense minute passed and Bastila nearly lost her nerve, but the thought of going back to her empty room, to lie abed, tormented by the same thoughts that brought her to him, made her shiver. Lanik opened the door and stared blearily at her for a moment.

His hair was tousled, as he had clearly been woken up, and his robe had been hastily thrown over his sleeping garments that appeared to consist only of a pair of soft pants; a moderate expanse of his bare chest was visible.

"Bastila?" he asked, blinking sleepily. "What is it? Is everything well?"

_Have I not seen how incredibly handsome he is? Such a delicate beauty, yet still very much a man…_

"Lanik, I…"

She nearly said, "I wish to speak with you," but realized, with a thrill of excitement tinged with apprehension, that she did not wish to speak to him at all.

_You are a Jedi Master in the Jedi Temple, _a voice reprimanded sternly. _Do not do what you know in your heart you will regret absolutely. _Bastila shook her head at the thoughts. _Perhaps, _she answered recklessly, _but I am tired of being alone. _Before she could stop herself or give the matter another thought, Bastila threw her arms around Lanik's neck and covered his mouth with her own.

Lanik was momentarily taken aback, for he stiffened in her arms and for a horrible moment, Bastila thought she had shamed herself grievously. But he then responded, wrapping his arms around her slender waist and deepening their kiss, and she ceased her worry and her doubt and became lost in the sensations.

He drew her inside his little room and managed to find the switch to close the door without breaking their contact. His kiss was sweet, his mouth soft and warm, and his tongue danced with hers deliciously. A pang of regret for never having known a man like this sooner touched Bastila and she held him tighter, kissed him deeper, until he was pressed against the wall.

_A man…everything he should be…_The satisfied thought filtered in to her mind coupled with a burgeoning desire that settled into the lower part of her stomach and her thighs. She wanted to feel his skin against hers, feel his man's chest against her breasts, and so she pulled off his robes, leaving him naked from the waist up.

Her boldness amused him but Bastila felt his own desire and he deftly, but gently, divested her of her own robes and laid her over the bed.

He was gentle and tender without being dispassionate, and Bastila reveled in the experience. She called upon the Force to heal her little wound so that not one moment would be spoiled by pain. She clutched him to her, as the first sensations of a man's touch coursed over her, and she smiled when he gasped her name. She did not call his for, in her most dispersed moments of desire, he had ceased to have an identity to her—he was merely flesh and bone and warmth and muscle. He was the man, the physical communion she sought. She did not love him, she knew then, but she sensed he did not love her either. What she was to him she did not know, and for the next hour, Bastila did not care.

When it was over, she lay curled in his arms, her back to his stomach, a small smile playing over her lips. Even as sleepiness stole over her, her thoughts were clearer than they had been in the daylight hours of the last few weeks—hours spent in anxious worry and fruitless pondering. Now, she felt settled and perfectly at peace. It was as though, by only the simple virtue of Lanik's touch, she felt able to face whatever the near future would bring.

_No, it was not his touch, it was my confrontation of my attraction to him. Sometimes just plucking one item out of the swirling chaos and handling it is enough to put everything else in perspective. _

"Bastila, you surprise me," Lanik murmured. "I was beginning to think you didn't care for me."

Bastila pressed herself tighter against him and she wrapped herself in the arm he had draped over her. "I admit, I surprised myself, but I have no regrets."

"Thank the Force for that," he said and buried his face in her hair. Bastila could have sworn he was chuckling but sleep was claiming her. The last thing she heard before she drifted off to sleep was Lanik's own sleepy voice say, "A pleasant surprise, indeed."

A while later, Bastila lay with her head pillowed on Lanik's shoulder, basking in the warmth of his body besides hers. _Better than a cold, empty bed. _

"Tomorrow is a momentous day," she said, trailing her fingers over the smooth skin of his chest. "The Exile comes and she will heal Dustil, I know it. She is very strong in the Force and I have faith."

"Mmm hmm." She felt, more than heard his reply rumbling in his chest.

"And then the new Jedi Council will meet for the first time," Bastila mused. She marveled that she no longer felt uneasy about it, or the Exile coming. _I will face whatever blame she lays at my feet without flinching. I will have Lanik by my side…_

Bastila paused at that thought, studying it. She did not want to rely solely on a man for her strength, but lying here beside him, she understood he was not the source of it. _He is an ally and a support. A companion…_ A pleased smile replaced her worried frown and she leaned on one elbow so that she might look him in the eye.

"Yes, in two day's time, the council will convene," Lanik said, meeting her gaze. He brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes. "It will be a momentous day, indeed," he said.

"Lanik," Bastila said, "the dawn comes soon. When it does, I want you to prepare to leave here."

She watched his exquisite features twist into an expression of mild concern. "Why? Have I displeased you? Is it because of this night…?"

"No, darling," Bastila returned, silencing his questions with a kiss. "Prepare to leave here by tomorrow evening. There will be no Jedi Council meeting here…Not on Coruscant."

Lanik felt the color drain from his skin and he endeavored with every fiber in his being to remain lying in bed with Bastila draped over him and not tear out of the room in a blind panic. His first instinct was to contact Lirik, but he needed more information, needed to concentrate. His thoughts were racing as was his heart and before he could control either, Bastila felt his pulse pounding against his chest with her hand.

"Be not afraid, darling," she said. "We are escaping the threat before it strikes."

_Afraid? Me? AFRAID? _Lanik wanted to scream. _It is you who should be afraid, Jedi, for toying with the Sith! _ "H-how did you learn of this?" he asked through a throat that had gone as dry as dirt.

"Arax Saraan," Bastila replied. "Revan. How she knew, I cannot guess."

_Revan! That traitorous whore is still causing us grief! The count will be most displeased…_

Lanik shuddered, thinking suddenly how displeased the count would have been with _him_ if Bastila hadn't opened her mouth this night. Lanik brought his turbulent emotions under control, grateful that his manipulations of the Jedi woman had likely saved his—and Jude's and Lirik's—skins. _There is time now, to make repairs and adjustments. It is not too late. Almost, but not too late. Ha! I knew my suffering would have its rewards._

He smiled gently at Bastila. "How wise of you to learn of this threat before it can undo everything you have worked for," he said dryly.

Bastila smiled briefly. "There is much left to do," she replied. "As soon as the Exile arrives and does what she can for Dustil, all Jedi will escape to Dantooine. When the Sith arrive, they will find and empty Temple. Empty of Jedi, anyway. Carth's men will be waiting."

Lanik struggled heroically to not slap the smug smile from her face. "Aren't we devious?" he said, forcing a smile. _Enough of this foolishness, I must contact Lirik. _

But Bastila, apparently in no hurry, settled back on his shoulder. "I told you this, Lanik, because it makes little sense to me to keep a Jedi Master of your caliber in the dark. I have not felt right about the secrecy. It is bad enough, keeping it from Juhani and Jolee—Jedi Masters and friends both. But you…I felt like I was lying to you every time I spoke to you."

_I know the feeling. _Lanik smirked.

"I feel better now, for having told you," she murmured. "It feels right. Everything about this night feels right."

Lanik hoped desperately that when Darth Tertius arrived and hacked off her pretty little head, the last thought to go through it would be the memory of those words. _Here's irony sharp enough to kill…_

Bastila fell back to sleep, her head heavy on his shoulder. It was Lanik's least favorite post-coitus position as it tended to make his arm fall asleep and the tingles that came when it awoke grated his nerves. But he suffered it—rather stoically, he thought—thinking that there was absolutely no plausible way for him to extricate himself without arousing immediate suspicion.

_Damn! _he thought, glancing at the bedside chrono. _Still hours until dawn. _ He lamented the lost time before he could contact Jude. In order for a new plan to succeed, they needed every hour they could get. And it had to succeed. Failure was not an option. _Not if I value walking upright and breathing unaided. Lirik is just going to have to do contact her on the Exile's ship's comm-center. It's risky and far from ideal, but there is no time. _

_Lirik! Lirik, wake up, you great lazy ass._

It took several more attempts before his twin replied.

"_Pleasant greetings to you too, brother," _Lirik replied, clearly irritated for having been rousted from his sleep.

_Lirik, shut up and listen to me, and listen good…_

_

* * *

_

_Flip the plus-or-minus five card and the total is twenty-one. _

"Twenty-one," Atton muttered darkly. He snorted indelicately and kicked his legs up onto the _Ebon Hawk's _console and leaned back in his chair. "Stupid game," he said to the empty cockpit. After a moment of watching the black and silver expanse of space streak past the _Hawk's _viewports, his mind wandered back.

_…total is eighteen. Flip the plus-or-minus four card and the total is twenty-two._

Atton shook his head and muttered a curse. _What the hell is wrong with me? _he wondered. A score of horrible memories and black emotions bubbled to the surface in response and he quickly pushed them down.

"I meant with Pazaak," he stated aloud to no one. "I don't lose at Pazaak…especially when I play it in my own head, for Force's sake." The word 'Force' brought on another round of blood-stained memories and Atton decided his own head was not a place he wanted to be just then.

He turned his attentions outward, listening to the _Ebon Hawk's_ engines thrum beneath him. But for that sound, all was quiet. It was late and everyone else on board had gone to sleep.

_But for me,_ he thought sourly. _No one gives two shits if the pilot gets some bloody rest, oh no. I could fly this thing into a moon before they'd think to relieve me. _The fact that there was no one _to_ relieve him and that he wouldn't turn over the controls of his ship to anyone on board anyway, Atton decided to ignore. His bitterness was far more satisfying to his blackened mood than logic.

Atton considered just closing his eyes and getting a few hour's rest right there, as he'd done so many times before, when he heard another, soft sound underneath the ship's droning engines. A moment of listening intensely and Atton realized it was the voice of a man, speaking in quiet tones.

Atton shrugged. _So I'm not the only one who can't sleep. Good. _

But a moment later and he heard a second voice respond to the first. It was a woman's voice, tinny and metallic, and Atton recognized that it was coming through a communicator.

An uneasy feeling settled into his stomach—one that he tried to ignore. He stared idly into space for a few more moments until the male's voice took on a hissing, angered quality. Atton, telling himself it was curiosity and not a sudden protective instinct, got to his feet and quietly crept out of the cockpit.

The main hold of the _Ebon Hawk _was dark but for a blue glow. Atton kept against the wall and peeked around from the short, narrow hallway that led to the hold. The woman's voice was given a form as the blue hologram revealed the image of a voluptuous, aggressive-looking female dressed in the unmistakable robes of a dark Jedi. The male voice Atton had heard was Lirik's.

"How did the Jedi discover our plan?" the woman was demanding, her voice cold and low. "Did you make a mistake, Lirik? Did you let slip some vital information?" she persisted, venom and sarcasm dripping from her tone.

"Me?" Lirik said in a loud whisper. "Are you mad? Who is at the Jedi Temple now? Who spends his every day with that Bastila? If anyone would let slip anything, it would be Lanik."

"So quick you are, to name your brother," the woman in the hologram smirked. "One might suspect you seek to let him take the fall…for your own glory perhaps?"

Lirik stuttered in impotent rage for a moment before regaining control and taking a surreptitious glance around the hold. Atton quickly ducked back into the shadows, but Lirik's glance was cursory and quick. He turned back to the hologram.

"I will not let you goad me into such a petty argument," Lirik said haughtily, in a loud whisper. "It was neither I nor Lanik who revealed to the Jedi your arrival. It was _Revan_."

Atton's eyes widened at the name. A thousand questions began to brew in his mind but he forced himself to pay attention.

The woman in the hologram was pondering this new information, a dark scowl on her severely beautiful features. _She looks as though she were carved of ice, _Atton thought. The blue color of the hologram increased that effect, as did the woman's next chilly words.

"All-seeing, all-powerful Revan," she seethed. "We shall see. Lirik!"

Lirik jumped as though she'd reached from out of the hologram and slapped him across the face.

"Upon inspection, this changes very little," the woman said. "Tell Lanik we shall arrive tomorrow morning on schedule. Instead of twenty-four hours to prepare, we shall have twelve. Fair enough. See to it that the Jedi are gathered together as well as you can…"

"Foolish," Lirik cut in. "If just one gets free, he or she will contact the Admiral and we'll have the entire Fleet breathing down our necks anyway."

The woman's smirk widened. "Oh, little Lirik, still as obtuse as always. Leave the strategizing—and the Fleet—to me."

Atton heard Lirik mutter a curse and the word 'obtuse' under his breath.

"So you think your three little squads can handle the whole of the Republic fleet?" he mused aloud, obviously seeking to regain the upper hand in this conversation. "I'm so glad I will already be in the heart of this endeavor, else I would have bought tickets to see _that."_

"Not three squads," the woman returned with a slow smile. "Fifteen."

Atton watched as the nervous twitching that ran over Lirik's face settled and faded. He smiled, clearly despite himself. "Fifteen? How did you…?"  
"The count made it very clear we must not fail. While I have complete faith in Darth Tertius, I take no chances. By the time the count realizes I have absconded with one hundred and twenty men, it will be too late. And when we return victorious, he won't care anyway."

"This was supposed to be a quick-strike and then retreat," Lirik mused, "but it appears you have other ideas."

"Indeed," the woman replied. Her face then grew cold again and Atton saw the momentary affinity between the two vanished to be replaced by their customary animosity. "Now, clear off this comm and tell Lanik what I have said."

Lirik scowled at her commanding tone.

"Fine, fine. I'll tell Lanik. Although it may be difficult to pry him away from Bastila Shan," he added coyly, a smile coming to his own features. The shadows of the _Hawk's _hold cast sinister black lines down his youthful face, turning the smile into a grimace. "I received word just an hour ago that he and the Jedi woman have become quite…_taken_ with one another."

"Is that so?" the woman purred. "I _do_ hope he saves some for me." She cackled at Lirik's crestfallen expression. "Tomorrow night, Lirik," she snapped. "Be ready," and the hologram flickered off. The hold was black but for the dim light cast by various consoles and panels.

"Damnable _schutta_," Lirik muttered to himself and wandered back to the port dormitory, leaving Atton alone.

The pilot stood for long moments, unmoving, the conversation he had just witnesses replaying over and over again in his head. After awhile, he returned to the cockpit and resumed his seat.

"They're Jedi; it serves them right," he muttered to himself. "Let them deliberate their way out of this one."

_Dane is one of those Jedi…_

Atton's scowl deepened. He flung himself into the pilot's chair and checked the _Hawk's_ systems to ensure all was in order. He verified with the navicomputer that the course was unchanged.

"I'm just the pilot," he said aloud. The only answer was the _Ebon Hawk's _systems, beeping softly now and then as the ship barreled through space towards Coruscant…and straight toward a Sith ambush.

"I'm just a pilot," Atton whispered.

_You are so much more than that…_

Her words, spoken on that long-ago afternoon before everything began to fall apart. At the time, Atton allowed himself to believe her. Her love gave him hope. Through her eyes, he saw himself as something more than a smuggler, a pilot, or an ex-Sith and murderer of Jedi. But with every moment that passed in which he did not race to her bunk and warn her, Atton realized with a hollow ache in his gut, that he was nothing more than a man sitting alone in the dark.

Hours later, Atton brought the _Ebon Hawk_ to a smooth landing on a Coruscant docking bay, close to the Jedi Temple. He hoped the landing was smooth enough so as not to have awoken anyone. As soon as the landing gear touched the ground and the engines were powered down, he rushed out of the cockpit toward the exit ramp. But the clean getaway he was hoping for was marred by the emergence of Dane from the starboard dormitory.

In the dim light of the morning that filtered in through the freighter's few viewports, she looked pale and wan. She stumbled down the hallway, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth and taking deep steadying breaths.

Automatically, Atton said, "Are you all right?"

Dane jumped for she hadn't seen him approach. "I'm fine," she said softly and stood up straighter. "Are you leaving this moment?"

"No, uh…no," Atton said, running a hand through his hair. "I just…I wanted to get some air."

"Please don't leave without first saying goodbye," she said.

He nodded absently.

_Tell her…You have to tell her._ He opened his mouth but no words came out.

Dane was watching him, a hopeful shine in her eyes, and Atton found his voice…but HK-47 clanked up behind them. Mission, Zaalbar, Lirik, and Jolee came moments after and Atton snapped his mouth shut with an audible clack.

"I'm going out for some food," he muttered, and pushed past the small crowd that had assembled.

"You're coming back, aren't you?" Dane asked.

"Of course," Atton snorted. He was irritated by the way she was looking at him—her eyes full of love and hope. _She should give it up. She has to know by now I'm no good for her. _"You gave me the _Hawk_ remember?" he said harshly. "I'll be back for _my_ ship," he added and stomped down the ramp, HK-47 in tow, for the assassin droid was still under orders to protect 'Master Jaq.'

Dane watched him go, conscious of Jolee and Mission's pitying looks.

_I won't let him go so easily, _she thought with a sudden fierceness. Without another word, she hurried to the cockpit and sat in Atton's seat. _He won't like this at all, but if he wants to leave, he's going to have to see me first, _she thought and voice-locked the _Ebon Hawk._

_

* * *

_

Bastila stood ramrod straight, her head up, her chin thrust forward. The rain fell over her robes but she hardly felt it. Juhani and her Padawan, Mical, stood beside her but she paid them no attention, not even the Disciple who shifted nervously as the freighter came down. Lanik Thrakill, standing at her right and scowling up at the sky every few moments, as though expecting something, she _did_ feel, and she longed to lean toward him, to touch him if only for a moment. But a hiss of the _Ebon Hawk's _vents and the clang of the landing gear on the docking bay refocused her attention.

_The _Ebon Hawk. _How long has it been? _

"Four years," Juhani murmured from beside her, echoing her thoughts. "I wondered if I'd ever see her again."

"As did I," whispered the Cathar's Padawan, Mical, a pleasant and earnest young man. Bastila glanced at him from the corner of her eye for she was fairly certain the Disciple hadn't meant the ship

The first of the freighter's passengers were disembarking. Bastila thrust her jaw out further, held her head straighter. _If the Exile has accusations for me, I will bear them standing tall. I will not shirk my responsibilities again. _ Still, Bastila's throat went dry as she heard the loading ramp of the small freighter come down. The ship was faced away from her and her party, so she could hear but not see the first of the _Hawk's _passengers approach. The Jedi woman was taken aback when thatfirst came streaking from around the ship in a flash of blue.

Mission Vao threw her arms around Bastila, holding the woman for a brief moment before pulling back. The Twi'lek's eyes shone with unshed tears but she had a determined set to her jaw.

"Where is he?" Mission asked.

Bastila had heard from Juhani that the Twi'lek had been inconsolable at the news of Dustil's injury. _Force, she loves him, I see it clear as day—even without feeling it through the Force. _

"He is in the Republic med facility. But Mission—" Bastila took a gentle but firm hold on the Twi'lek's arm as Mission started off. Bastila had meant to keep the girl from going, to keep her from irritating Carth, but one look in the Twi'lek's eyes and the Jedi Master changed her mind. _She is no child, not anymore,_ Bastila thought, _and it will never hurt Carth to know his son is loved._

Bastila smiled at Mission. "Go. Perhaps the sound of your voice will do him good."

Mission nodded grimly and waited only for the Wookiee, Zaalbar, to follow her and then she was gone. Bastila wondered if she shouldn't have warned Mission that it was feared Dustil was blind. The young man hadn't woken from his unconsciousness, not since Lanik had seen him, and so Bastila held off. _The Exile and Jolee may be able to heal him of it, anyway, _she thought. _No sense in worrying the girl unnecessarily. _

Again, Bastila was pulled from her thoughts and her heart sent to thudding again as Jolee Bindo and Lanik's exact duplicate stepped off.

Bastila eyed the ramp for a sign of the Exile, but as much as Bastila was eager—and afraid—to converse with the Exile, her eyes were drawn to Lanik's brother. The young Jedi walked quickly over to Lanik and the two regarded each other with a peculiar mix of mistrust and jovial animosity. They did not embrace at their reunion, but looked at one another intently, small twisted smiles on their faces and nervous glints in their eyes. _They appear as though they are speaking volumes without words, _Bastila thought. _Perhaps that is the way with twins…_

"Wonderful," grumbled Jolee by way of greeting, "there's two of them."

"Bastila Shan, this is my dear, darling brother, Lirik," Lanik said with a crooked smile for his brother. Lirik returned the smirk and then bowed low to Bastila.

"An honor," he said. "My brother has told me quite a bit about you, Master Shan. I feel as if I know you."

"You flatter me," Bastila said with a knowing smile for Lanik.

"Not at all," Lirik said with a laugh. "Lanik and I speak frequently and he just goes on and on and on about you."

Bastila watched as Lanik shot his brother a cold look. "All right, Lirik," he began but his twin continued, a mischievous grin on his handsome, boyish features—features that were so identical to Lanik's, Bastila blinked her eyes at the two of them.

"No, truly," Lirik continued. "I have never heard him rave about another woman so." He leaned in to Bastila and said in a confidential tone, "And there have been plenty of women, let me tell you—"

"That's enough!" Lanik said harshly and softened his tone with a smile for Bastila. "My brother has a fondness for jests." To Lirik he said, "There is little need for you to embarrass me quite so immediately, Lirik," he told his twin who was smiling impishly. "I would have thought you could restrain yourself for at least three full minutes before doing so."

"You thought wrong," Lirik shot back, with a reverential bow for Bastila that was completely undone in its respect by the lascivious wink that accompanied it.

"It is a pleasure to have you here, Lirik," Bastila said by rote, for she was not entirely sure that was true at all. Something about Lirik unsettled her, but before she could ponder it further, Lanik was ushering his twin away.

"If you'll excuse us," Lanik said with a small bow, "but there is much catching up to do with my brother," he said. "Would it be very rude of us to depart?"

"Of course not," Bastila said, sorry to see him go but careful to keep her expression neutral. She felt Juhani's eyes on her as Lanik departed, and so she did not let her own linger on him.

"Don't tell me you're smitten with that fool's clone," Jolee snorted.

Bastila stiffened. "Nice to see you again, too, Jolee."

The old Jedi softened and patted Bastila on the cheek with his gnarled hand. "We'll have a talk, we will. The whole lot of us. There's a bunch of skrag to get sorted out, that's for damn sure."

Bastila made to reply when she saw the Exile approach.

She was tall and neatly dressed, her white-blond hair pulled into a neat ponytail at the back of her head. Her robes were clean and straight and she stood with her head high, seeming not to mind the rain that drizzled over the group. For all intents and purposes, Dane Koren appeared a model Jedi Master…but for the wound.

Bastila felt it even before the Exile stepped forward and offered a bow and a soft-voiced greeting. Bastila, so in tune with the Force, could imagine it as a white ribbon of purest energy that was darkened and stained as it touched Dane. Bastila looked at the woman, searched her face for a sign that the wound was a burden, so heavy that she bore the weight of it in her eyes or in her expression. Bastila thought it must be so for the Exile appeared broken. For all her appearances, Bastila felt a fractured quality to the woman's emotions, as though all the sense and calm she exuded were a thin veil she wore, one that could be blown away at one wrong word, or a dark look. _And how she must resent me for allowing her to carry this burden alone. _

"Greetings, Master Koren," Bastila said, returning the Exile's bow. "It is an honor to have you here," she said. "Allow me to introduce Master Juhani," she said, indicating the Cathar. The Exile and Juhani exchanged bows. "And, of course, you know, Mical."

The Disciple stepped from around Juhani and Dane flew into his arms.

"My friend," she said.

Bastila smiled at the reunion, but then the rain began to come down in heavier drops.

"More rain," Jolee muttered. "Because two weeks wasn't enough."

"Yes," Dane said and her eyes met Bastila's, as Mical reluctantly released her. They were large and pleading, and Bastila sensed that the Exile held no recriminations, no accusations, no blame, but was mutely and desperately asking for help.

_This pain…it is not the wound. Not just. There is something else…_

"Yes," Dane said again, seeming in answer Bastila's unspoken thoughts. She smiled a small, sad smile. "We have brought the storm with us."

Bastila, without thinking or allowing herself a second thought, put her arms around the Exile. Immediately, the woman wilted against her and Bastila held her tight.

"Come then," Bastila murmured. "Let's get you out of the rain."

* * *

Atton made it down one of Coruscant's long city blocks before he stopped. His footsteps as he walked down Coruscant's broad walkways had taken on a vocal quality—_tell her, tell her, tell her—_HK-47, clanking behind him, nearly crashed into him. The droid muttered a sarcastic complaint but Atton ignored it.

_You don't have to stay, you don't have to help, but at least warn her. You can give her that much. _

Atton turned and raced back toward the _Ebon Hawk. _ He ran around its exterior to the place on the docking pad where the contingent of Jedi was greeting Dane and the others. Squinting through the rain, Atton watched as a blond man, tall and wearing the Jedi robes, engulfed Dane in a long embrace.

_Disciple,_ Atton thought, as the drizzle of rain became heavier. He saw Dane pull away to hold Mical at arm's length—the smile on her face wide and visible from where Atton was standing—and say something to him before embracing him again.

Atton reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a battered pack of cigarras. He lit one, cupping his hand over the flame to keep the rain from dousing it. He took a long drag, exhaled it in a long, pluming breath, turned and walked away.

* * *

"I am sorry to rush you over this," Bastila said as she, Juhani and Mical led Dane and Jolee towards the Republic med facility, "But there is little time…for Dustil, and for the rest of us."

"What do you mean?" Dane asked.

Bastila opened her mouth to speak, but shut it again, pressing her lips together in a thin line. Finally, she said, "I understand you plan to seek out Revan. Is this true?"

Dane glanced at Mical who blushed again. "I apologize, Dane—eh, Master Koren. I hadn't thought it was a secret."

Dane smiled gently. "It isn't. You haven't betrayed me," she said lightly, though she felt anything but. Her stomach twisted into knots and she felt nauseous. _Do your duty. First help Dustil, then the Jedi will help you. _

"Yes, I seek Revan. A long time ago, I planned to seek you out, as well," she said, her gaze encompassing Jolee, Juhani and Bastila. "I wanted to learn as much as I could of her from those that knew her best. I hope we have time to enough that that might still happen. And…" Dane's throat closed. The med facility loomed before them. "And I have need of your assistance, but later. First, Dustil."

She felt the others exchange glances behind her back, but now was not the time nor place to discuss Atton. _And not in front of Mical either. _For all their time apart had done nothing to dampen the Disciple's affections for her—she felt it clear as day.

Dane sighed and forced her anxiety for Atton away only to have it replaced by her anxiety over trying the healing technique she and Jolee had studied over. _What if it doesn't work, or I do it wrong? _ She felt a comforting pat on her arm and saw the old Jedi smiling at her.

"Sometimes we spend too much time in our heads worrying about stuff we gotta do instead of just doing them," he said.

"And sometimes we do things rashly, even after years of meditation and study advise us otherwise," Juhani muttered with a pointed glance at Bastila as they entered the facility.

Dane had served under Revan during the Mandalorian Wars. The chaos of that conflict afforded little time for conferences and meetings between her and her officers. Truly, Revan was such a military genius and master strategist, her orders were accurate enough to not need pointless hours of debate and deliberations. However, Dane could recall at least three separate occasions in which she had spent time in Revan's presence. Each time, Dane had wondered at the force of the woman's personality. She radiated a kind of energy that at once drew one in and repelled one at the same time. Her outward demeanor never gave clue to her thoughts and Dane started to think of Revan, not as a woman and human, but a military prodigy whose talents and intelligence consumed the femininity and humanity right out of her. _What kind of man could Revan ever love, and what man could love her? Or would? _Dane had wondered then.

Dane had heard of Revan's fate of course; her turning to the dark side and using that strategic intelligence for the glory of the Sith; of her capture by the Jedi and subsequent brainwashing—a feat that erased the Dark Lord of the Sith and left the manufactured personality of Arax Saraan. Consequently, Dane held no misconceptions that Revan was the same woman now as before the war, but looking at Admiral Carth Onasi, Dane had the answer to her question as to what kind of man could love her. _And by that virtue he, more than anyone, can tell me about the Revan I go to seek. She has not fallen to the dark side…not when she has the love of this man. _

He was handsome in a boyish manner, though his brown eyes bore a thousand stories of rough years, of pain and war. He face was handsome and marked with lines that told Dane he smiled often—or had—and that he could do so easily again, circumstances allowing. His demeanor was one of a man who thought the best of people and so often drew it out of them. An air of honor and integrity was about the Admiral as well and Dane knew it had nothing to do with the Republic officer's uniform he wore. Having served in the military herself, Dane was instantly drawn to Carth Onasi—he embodied the qualities she had, during her service as a general, tried so hard to possess. _He does it effortlessly. It would have been an honor to serve under one such as he. _

"Admiral Onasi," she said as she stepped into Dustil's hospital room. She went immediately to him and took his hand, clasping it in both of hers. "It is an honor to meet you," she said.

The Admiral looked a bit taken aback but as he met Dane's eyes, he relaxed a bit and a twitch of smile met his lips. "Master Koren," he said wearily, for the hours of his vigil hung over him like a pall. "Thank you for coming." He looked at Jolee and then two men exchanged wordless greetings.

"There is much I would speak with you about, after we are done here, Admiral Onasi," Dane told him.

Carth's expression darkened, for he was no fool. He knew why she had come—apart from seeking to help Dustil. But he sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I suppose so. But first…please." He inclined his head at the unconscious form lying on the bed.

Dane's heart leapt into her throat at the sight of him. Dustil Onasi, the bright, lively young man who had come to their assistance so selflessly, had been reduced to a pale, thin body under stiff white sheets. Mission Vao sat beside him, holding his hand tightly in hers. She looked at Dane with pleading eyes.

"Carth said they think he's blind," the Twi'lek said. "But you know what? I don't care," she said fiercely. "I'll help him see for the rest of his life, but please just help him wake up," she cried, tears spilling down her blue cheeks. "Please. Just wake him up."

"I'll tr—" Dane stopped. It was part of her Jedi training, learned long ago. There was no try, only do or not do. She smiled at Mission. "I will."

The Exile took a deep breath and concentrated, pulling together all the work she and Jolee had done on Manaan. _Dead fish and baby firaxa…? This is Dustil, _came a nagging thought. But now was the time. Dane gave Jolee a final look, searching his eyes for assurance. He nodded his head once, his lips pressed grimly together in thin line, but a twitch of smile touched them too, and Dane nodded.

"Whatever happens, whatever you see," Dane told those assembled, "do not touch me. Do not break my contact with Dustil. Do not come to my aid if it appears as though I need it. Understood?" Her eyes met each of the people in turn, and lingered on Jolee the longest. Though the old man understood why she said what she had better than any of them, by that same token, he was also the most likely to try to stop her if things got bad.

Mission, who had been sitting beside Dustil and holding the man's hand with a vise-like grip, reluctantly stood up and moved away.

Dane laid her hands on Dustil's inert form, one to his right shoulder, the other to his hand. She closed her eyes and blocked out all other thought and emotion. She forced away the trials of her last weeks and the pain of Atton's turning until she saw only blackness in her mind's eye. Dane gently squeezed Dustil's flesh where she touched him, increasing the pressure of her hands on his skin, and concentrated on the sensation.

_Life… this is life under your hands, but it has been wounded. Find it. _

Instantly, she found numerous smaller injuries, but she paid them little heed, concentrating until she felt the Force reveal to her the possibility that everyone feared. Dane nearly withdrew her hands, a cold dread settling over her. The technique Jolee had discovered made very real the possibility that she would take on that blindness, but there was no way to know for certain—not until she tried it. _It doesn't matter anyway, _she thought. _The wound demands it. Whatever I lose in restoring Dustil to health is small in comparison to what I may gain. _

And so Dane refocused her energies and channeled the Force.

When healing in the past, it was a matter of calling upon the Force and sending it into the wounded person's body. This time, Dane guided the Force into Dustil's unconscious form, felt it circle through him…and then she called it into herself.

Pain came immediately. She gasped once and then her throat closed as though an unseen hand had gripped it and begun to squeeze. She wavered for a moment, careful to keep her hands on Dustil, to never break contact…and the pain passed. Under her hand, she could feel the young man breath easier and she felt bolstered. _But far from done…_

Dane began the second round, summoning the Force that was still in her and sending it into Dustil. It cycled through him and then she pulled it back. It was as though she and Dustil were breathing one another's air—she taking in what he exhaled, and so on. Thinking of it in this light helped her greatly, for she felt it made the cycles smoother and more fluid…until the pain came again.

This time it was at the back of her head and she heard herself cry out, though her voice sounded far away. She fell to her knees but managed to keep her contact with Dustil, clutching at him, digging her nails into his flesh sharp enough to draw blood. But she did not let him go. Her experiences on Manaan did not prepare her fully for this, but she learned new truths kneeling beside that hospital bed.

The first was that if she broke contact, if she left a part of the Force in Dustil, she would be cut off from it and weakened. Too much, and she could die…and vice versa. If she pulled too much into herself and broke contact, Dustil would die. But if it worked, the combined power of their life energies, coupled with the healing power of the Force, would defeat the pain and the injury.

And it was working.

Jolee, in his wisdom and observation, had been right. As the wave of pain passed, Dane smiled weakly at her triumph. She gently released Dustil from her grip and got to her feet. Her body hummed with healing energy and she remembered that long ago day when Kreia asked her how she would most love to use her talents. _Healing. It has always been healing. _Dane sighed with relief and opened her eyes.

A peculiar sensation came over her then, the sensation of one trying to do what one has already done. With a pang of fear, Dane realized her eyes were already open.

Her heart thudded dully in her chest as she stared into the darkness. Near her, she heard Mission suck in a breath, and felt Jolee's hand on her arm.

"He is blind," Dane confirmed, her voice a whisper as panic began to grip her. _And so am I…_ But then, slowly, as though someone was slowly turning on a dimmer switch, Dane's vision returned.

"It is passing," she said and felt her knees go weak with relief. She let out a short laugh of relief and hugged Jolee, who tolerated the show of affection extremely well.

"The stories of those beyond healing…" Dane whispered, thinking of Bao-Dur with a heavy heart.

"No more of them," he replied. "No more."

"Thank the Force," Bastila breathed. Juhani's dour expression was replaced by a relieved smile and Mical watched Dane with his heart in his eyes.

Dane looked down at Dustil and laughed joyously. The ashen color of his face was gone and he breathed easily. He was asleep, but no longer unconscious, and Dane felt a tremendous weight lift off her shoulders. _I never want to stop doing this. After I aid Revan, or perhaps during, I shall never stop healing others…_

Dane was pulled from her happy reverie by the sight of Carth and Mission exchanging unsure glances.

"He didn't wake up," Mission said in a small voice, returning to Dustil's side.

"He will," Dane said, smiling at the Twi'lek. She turned to Carth. "My apologies, Admiral Onasi, for not being clearer," Dane said, "but Dustil is blind, true, but not permanently. It will pass."

The Admiral looked between his son, who _did_ appear now to be only sleeping gently, and Dane. His eyes shone and he cleared his throat.

"Dane," he said gruffly, "call me Carth."

* * *

Lanik guided his brother to a sheltered alley near the Jedi Temple, intending to have an in-depth conference as to the next phase of their plans when a dark shape—clad in black—flew at him, pinning him to the wall. Lanik felt Jude Gracus' strong arms wrap tightly around his neck and her mouth crushed his in a violent kiss. He responded eagerly while Lirik rolled his eyes.

"Such weak defenses," Jude said breathlessly when they broke the kiss, her body still pressed against his. "I breached them easily—took you both by surprise."

Lanik laughed appreciatively while Lirik muttered a curse under his breath.

"We are too close to the enemy," Lanik warned after another ardent kiss. He glanced around. "Where are your dark Jedi?"

"With Darth Tertius," Jude replied, sliding out of his embrace. "Hidden. Ready." Her smile was wicked in the early morning light—like a scar marring her otherwise attractive features. "I can't stay," she said, and Lirik beamed at the news. "There is still much for me to do. Lirik, stop standing there, grinning like an empty-headed fool. You will stay with me. Lanik, darling, you must go back to the Temple."

Lirik looked like a child who's just had his favorite toy taken from him. "What? Why?"

"Fool! You will stay with me so that when the time comes, you can communicate to Lanik that we are coming. We can be coordinated through your bond."

"Well, why can't Lanik stay with you?" Lirik whined.

"Because he is a Jedi Master," Jude replied and gave Lanik an appreciative glance. "He is important. You," she said pointedly, "will not be missed."

Lirik's face turned an ugly shade of red and his hand drifted to his belt where his lightsaber was tucked. Lanik took a step between them.

"Now, now," Lanik said in a conciliatory tone, though he thoroughly enjoyed the animosity between his brother and his lover. "Let us not bicker amongst ourselves. What is my role, sweeting?" he asked Jude. "To stay with Bastila? To ensure her happiness right up until the moment of her untimely death?"

Jude narrowed her eyes, but a smile on her lips betrayed her. "I'm sure you have been enjoying that role all too much," she said. "Hmm, I can taste her on your lips. How was she? Better than me?"

Lanik shook his head and let his hand trail down Jude's sharp-angled face. "No one could be better than you."

"No one's had as much practice," Lirik muttered.

Jude shot him a dark look before turning a warmer gaze on his twin. "Tonight, my darling. Be ready."

"For the glory of the Sith," Lanik replied, his eyes suddenly going dark, his voice low and devoid of humor.

"For the glory of the Sith," Jude replied similarly, and, as if the heavens sanctioned their oaths, a booming thunder shook the air at that moment. Lightning broke the sky apart, cracked it open so that the rain poured out of it—down onto the Jedi Temple of Coruscant.


	34. Siege Part I

**Chapter 34**

**Siege   
(Part I)**

Peace is a lie, there is only passion.

Through passion, I gain strength.

Through strength, I gain power.

Through power, I gain victory.

Through victory, my chains are broken.

The Force shall free me.

--The Sith Code

Dane, Carth and Bastila walked together out of the med facility. Jolee had elected to stay with Dustil to monitor his progress after the new healing, while Juhani dragged a reluctant Mical to the Temple's Arboretum for some "much-needed" meditation. After a time, Lanik Thrakill joined the three, an electric energy in his eyes and a briskness in his step. The rain had, after a violent downpour, abated, though the sky was still dark with heavy clouds.

Walking with her new companions, Dane found she had a hundred different thoughts on her mind—primarily Atton and the help she needed from the Jedi. But Lanik Thrakill walked with them and, much like his twin, he left her unsettled. He did not have the manic energy of this brother, but a cool, collected smoothness that reminded her of snake sunning itself on a rock. When he looked at her, his smile was lazy and knowing, and his eyes were full of thoughts he would not share. Dane did not feel comfortable discussing Atton in front of this man, no matter how Bastila seemed taken with him. Instead, she decided to get some preliminary, Jedi business out of the way.

"This is likely a matter to discuss at the Council meeting," Dane told Bastila, "but I think you should know there are a good many Sith holocrons on Telos, at the Academy there."

Bastila's eyes widened, and Dane missed the peculiar, thoughtful expression that flitted over Lanik's features.

"Is that so?" Bastila asked. "That hardly seems safe."

Dane nodded and smiled ruefully. "A thousand years ago, or so it seems, I planned to journey there, to destroy them. They corrupted Master Atris and now sit in the empty Academy. I would feel better if we made the decision to handle them there as soon as possible. I mention this now, only because I am…not entirely well," Dane said, and cleared her throat. "And I leave shortly to meet Revan. I would rest easier, knowing this matter could be handled in my absence."

Bastila opened her mouth to speak, when Lanik cut in.

"On Telos, you said?" Lanik mused. "Rest assured, Master Koren, we shall take care of those holocrons after you are gone."

Dane nodded her thanks. _And now, Revan. May as well learn what I can now, before the Council or Carth's duties take him away. _ "I hope it does not seem terribly rude of me," she said to Bastila and Lanik, "but might I speak privately with Admiral Onasi?"

Bastila appeared nervous at the request. "Well, perhaps…" Dane saw her eyes meet Carth's and then the Jedi woman nodded. "Yes, there is time yet. Of course, Master Koren. Come Lanik," she said, and led the young man away, snaking her arm in his. Lanik too, Dane noticed, seemed suddenly anxious about something as well, but they were both gone before she had time to ponder it.

Dane looked up at Carth Onasi walking beside her and offered him a gentle smile. "I know this must be difficult for you," she began. "Please know, I have no desire to cause you pain, but I must know what I face when I go to Revan."

"It doesn't matter. I owe you my help any way possible after what you did for Dustil." Carth smiled ruefully. "But honestly, I don't know how much help I can offer. She left…suddenly." He stopped walking suddenly and looked at Dane, a shadow coming over his handsome features for it was clear that the pain he spoke of was not dulled by age, but still very much alive, and Dane's words awakened it anew.

"Why are you going after her, anyway?" he asked tiredly. "Do you know where she is? Have you spoken with her?"

Dane shook her head and laid her hand gently on his arm. "No, Carth, I have not spoken with her," she said softly. "Nor do I know where she is…somewhere in the Outer Rim only. Why I go is a long story and not one I shall burden you with now."

The simple truth to her words seemed to calm him for Carth nodded and the mask of mistrust that had settled over his face slipped off. "Your reasons are your own, I guess," he said and they resumed walking. "So," he said after a silence, "you want to know what you're going to find when you go out there, eh?"

Dane nodded. "Yes. I wish to know if I seek to help her in her cause, or stop her—"

"You want to know if she's fallen to the dark side or not," Carth said darkly.

Dane nodded again.

"Well, she hasn't. I don't have the Force or anything, but I just know it."

"I believe you," Dane replied. "It is why I wished to speak to you. Of anyone, I knew you would have the answers. Do you know why she left? I mean, _exactly_ why she left."

"No," Carth said automatically. "That's the million credit question, isn't it?" he added with a harsh laugh. He looked at Dane and his expression softened. "She left me a note. After one year of happiness, she just up and left and I have only this note." Carth reached into the inner pocket of his red uniform jacket and pulled out a datacard. "No one has seen this but me."

Dane watched as Carth retrieved a datapad from another pocket and slipped the datacard into it. Wordlessly, he handed it to Dane.

The Exile held the datapad for long moments, unsure.

"It's all right," Carth said dully. "I'm not showing this to you out of the kindness of my heart. I have my reasons," he said with a rueful smile. He stopped walking and faced her.

"Dane, I don't know that I can help you very much, or that anyone else here can either. You're going to fight some unknown Force war and all I can tell you is what I secretly vowed to Revan: I'll make sure the galaxy stays safe while you're gone." He turned his eyes to the gathering clouds, his expression growing dark with them.

"Do you know how many times I thought about doing what you're going to do?" he continued. "Every damn morning when I wake up in an empty bed, and every damn night when I lay down to go to sleep without her beside me. But I'm going to stay here and do my part. I give you this datacard because I think it will help you more than me or anyone else here can. But I also give it to you because when you will know what she once felt, and maybe you can…"Carth stopped and cleared his throat. "Maybe you can remind her of that for me."

Dane was speechless. The fact that he trusted her so quickly and so completely touched her deeply. With shaking hands, she flipped on the datapad and read the words that the great and mighty Revan—former Jedi Knight, former Dark Lord of the Sith—wrote to her lover.

Her eyes filled with tears at the words for she couldn't help but think of Atton. "Thank you, Carth," she said. "You are right. This helps me more than I could have hoped. It _gives _me hope, for now I know I seek to join her in a righteous cause, to fight beside her, not against her. I know she has not fallen, just as you do, and after it is all over, she will come back."

Carth smiled sadly. "We'll see."

They had walked far, and were well beyond the Jedi Temple, nearer to the docking pad where the _Ebon Hawk _sat. Carth offered Dane his arm and they turned to head back to the Temple. She took it, smiling up at him, and basking in a momentary happiness for having found a new friend. But, as had been the custom of late, Dane's happiness was short-lived for the sky in front of them—dark with the coming of night—suddenly lit up in a burst of orange and red. A thunderous explosion followed—one strong enough to nearly knock her and the Admiral off their feet.

Carth immediately forced Dane to the ground and shielded her body with his, but the explosion was too far away to cause them harm. _It is about three hundred meters away, _Dane calculated, her mind instantly going into military mode. _The Jedi Temple…_

"The Sith," she heard Carth mutter.

"What?" Dane asked. "What is happening?"

Carth jumped to his feet and hauled Dane to hers. He quickly told her about the message from Revan and the plan to evacuate the Jedi to Dantooine before the Sith could attack.

"I guess they figured it out and are striking early," he muttered.

Dane's heart began to pound for now that she was attuned to it, she felt a tremendous amount of dark energy descend on Coruscant as surely as the blackening storm clouds did. She drew her lightsaber and ignited it instantly while one of Carth's hands went to his blaster. The other, he held to his mouth and spoke into the comlink in his sleeve as the two of them raced back to the Temple. Flames and great billowing clouds of smoke filled the sky ahead and Dane

"Deke!" Carth shouted into his comlink. "Deke, get the regiment to the Jedi Temple, there's been an attack."

"An attack…?" Dane could hear the awe in the young man's voice on the other end of the comlink, but he then pulled himself together. "Admiral, the regiment is gone."

Carth and Dane shared grim looks. "What do you mean, 'gone'?"

"Sir, you ordered them into space, into practice maneuvers just this afternoon."

Carth's brown eyes widened. "Deke, I did no such thing. Where is that regiment?"

"Sir," came the young man's voice, tinny and nervous over the comlink, "I'm reading your orders in the system right here. You ordered your regiment, and the regiment of three other generals to practice maneuvers."

"Dammit to hell," Carth muttered. "They've hacked into the fleet's comm systems," he told Dane. They were nearing the Jedi Temple and both could hear the roar of a great fire and the smoke became thicker. "Call them back, Deke. Now! And send anyone left to the Temple!"

"There's no one here," Deke said miserably. "Maybe fifty off-duty—"

"Then put them back on duty, Lieutenant!" Carth thundered into his comlink.

"Yes, sir," came the crisp reply and the comm went out.

Carth grabbed his second blaster and both he and Dane raced for the Jedi Temple that was slowly being engulfed in flames.

* * *

"Have we time?" Lanik asked huskily, his face buried in Bastila's neck, his hands gliding over her neck and down the front of her robes. She opened to her mouth to speak—a breathy answer that was almost certainly going to be a 'yes', when the floor suddenly seemed to rear up and tossed the pair of them to the ground. A tremendous roar and a quaking followed, raining bits of ceiling down over them. 

"I guess not," Lanik muttered with a smile while Bastila cried out in fear…and pain. There were only twenty or so Jedi in the Temple—the Jedi Civil War having all but decimated the Order. Lanik could see by the woman's face that their number had just been further reduced, and Bastila had felt their deaths through the Force.

"Wha…what happened?" she cried.

They were in one of the towers of Jedi Temple and Lanik suddenly knew exactly what had happened.

_That was too close. Lirik! You could have warned me to stay out of the Temple if you knew Jude was going to blow the damn thing up._

_"Did I forget to mention that?" _came Lirik's snide reply. _"My apologies brother, I was distracted by the beauty and charisma of the lovely woman you saw fit to leave me with." _

_Now is not the time for your petty tirades, Lirik. _

Lanik pulled Bastila to her feet, wondering briefly if the time had come and if he should just kill her now. But Lirik's voice came again, clear in his head while a roaring sound filled the hallways.

_"All right, well now that you mention it, that was only the first blast. Thermal detonators have quite a reach. I suggest you exit the building, brother, and with due haste…if you catch my meaning." _

Lanik did. He decided his tour of duty as a kind and good-hearted Jedi Master was not quite over yet. Lanik grabbed Bastila by the hand and tried to drag her down the hallway.

"No! There are others still here," she protested, pulling against his grip. "We have to warn them."

"The explosion was warning enough," Lanik replied, and dragged Bastila out of the Temple and into the downpour. He was right. Other Jedi—a pitiful handful—were assembled in the street, gazing about at their Temple. One fourth of it was destroyed—rendered a smoking mass of debris by Jude's thermal detonators. Lanik smiled at the chaos, but knew it wouldn't last long. The Jedi would seek out the dark energy their enemies carried—already, some of them were drawing their lightsabers, grim looks of determination on their faces. _Pacifists?_ _These Jedi seem ready for a fight, _Lanik thought with a smile. _This might be interesting after all. _

The Exile and Carth Onasi raced up, both eyeing the burning Temple with horror.

"Carth," Bastila said and met his eyes. The two shared a knowing look and then The Admiral nodded grimly.

"Is everyone all right?"

"I don't know where Juhani is," Bastila shouted above the roar of the flames.

"And Mical is with her," said the Exile, her eyes sharp as she peered through the haze, both hands gripping her lightsaber.

As the group regrouped and healed the injured, Lanik planned his escape. He was careful and methodical to a fault. He knew Jude's men—dark Jedi and Sith soldiers alike—would be arriving any moment and while he would have enjoyed drawing his lightsaber against the Jedi, something told him to wait. _Not yet. Do not reveal yourself yet. Your time will come. Get away and observe. _How he was going to do that, he didn't know…until the second explosion occurred.

Though Bastila had moved her Jedi away from the Temple, the force of the blast was enough to send the small crowd flying. The sound was deafening and a brilliant flash of white and orange light lit up the sky as bright as day, making the falling rain look like shards of slender glass. Rock and other debris from the Temple rained over them, striking like jagged hailstones, while thick, black smoke blanketed the scene.

With the rain, the dark of the night, the chaos of the attack, Lanik found his escape, though it was difficult for him to pull himself away from the pleasurable, frightened screams of the Jedi…

* * *

To Mical, the first explosion was such an assault on his senses he could not perceive what had occurred. One moment, he was walking into the Jedi Temple from the Arboretum, the next he was lying on his back, his ears ringing, his robes covered in grime and blood—his own, he vaguely understood—while debris rained around him. White hot licks of fire reached for him and he scrambled away instinctively. 

A sharp, violent pain tore through his arm, demanding his fractured attention. He glanced down and realized, without a touch of surprise, that his arm was broken. Halfway between wrist and elbow, a jagged piece of bone jutted out through the skin at and angle that was not in any way natural.

Mical blinked hard and gingerly laid his hand over the protruding bone. His mind was slow to register reality around him but he somehow knew his arm couldn't stay like that. Anatomical diagrams and medical journal articles from his years of study swam up but he paid them no heed. Even in his disjointed state, he knew what needed to happen. Sucking in a breath, he pressed the bone back through the flesh and back into place. His vision grayed out at the pain and he was dimly aware that he had fallen to one knee, a ragged scream tearing from his throat. _The Force, _he thought weakly. _It can help. _ Not knowing how, he called upon the Force and the monstrous pain receded.

_Juhani…_

Blearily, his wits not having completely caught up with reality, he peered around, searching for a form to match the name that filtered into his shocked mind. He saw the Cathar, a dim shape in the darkening night made a silhouette by the fire behind her. She rose to her feet some thirty paces away from him.

Mical, his body starting to register a hundred other tiny aches and pains from the blast—some of which he worried might not be so minor—rose shakily to his feet.

"Juhani," he called, forgetting completely to address her by her proper title.

The woman wheeled her head around in the general direction of his voice. The Disciple, his thoughts settling now as the first shock wore off, hurried to her.

"Master, are you all right?" he asked, laying a steadying hand on her arm.

"I'm fine," she snapped. Her face—like his, he imagined—was blackened by soot and glistened with blood from numerous little cuts. "We have to go in there, for the others," she said, and took off toward the Temple.

Whether it was instinct or attunement to the Force and its dark side, Mical didn't know, but he suddenly knew what was about to occur. He leapt forward and wrapped his arms around Juhani's waist, dragging her away from the Temple. All over again, the air was rent apart by a blast so loud, Mical's ears couldn't comprehend it. His world became red flames, pouring rain, and a hard pelting of stone—and then he was flying again.

He hit the ground hard and the breath was knocked from him. His mind was somehow better prepared for this second explosion, for he oriented himself rather quickly. He peered through the pouring rain and thickening smoke and found Juhani shambling aimlessly on his left.

His body now protesting louder at the abuse, he rushed toward her.

"Master," Mical said, for the second time.

Juhani looked around at him, her eyes glassy and vacant. Mical saw with a sick twist to his stomach that blood leaked from her pointed ears.

"Yes," she said, answering a question no one had asked, and turning her gaze to the burning Temple behind her that was now halfway destroyed. Mical heard her emit a low, guttural growl. "Sabotage," she murmured absently.

"Come, master, we have to go," Mical said, gently tugging at her arm, ignoring the blankness to her expression that caused him nearly as much fear as the blasts themselves. _She is not well. Not well at all…_

"Yesss," the Cathar hissed, and she took an unsteady step away from Mical. Like a drunken person, she fumbled her lightsaber from her belt and ignited it, nearly taking the Disciple's ear off. "Yes, time to go," she said. Her eyes were not on him, but at some point behind him.

Mical looked around and saw, to his horror, a tide of black-clad shapes moving in the flickering light of the flames. "Dark Jedi," he breathed, and drew his own lightsaber. _But no, too many!_ came the warning but it was too late. Juhani, with a fierce, feline battle cry, raced toward the shapes before he could stop her.

For one endless, panicked moment, Mical didn't know what to do. _Get help! _urged the logical side of him, but every other part screamed that he could not allow his Jedi Master, undoubtedly seriously injured by the explosions, fight the enemy alone. Pressing his nearly overwhelming fear down deep, into his bowels, he turned on his heels and ran after Juhani, toward the oncoming horde of Sith.

* * *

Mission almost didn't hear the first blast—Dustil was waking up. 

She gripped his hand in her own tightly, willing with her entire body that he open his eyes. They began to flutter, and he murmured something—his voice no more than a whisper.

"Jolee…" Mission breathed. "Come look."

But the old Jedi had heard the blast…and had felt it too. Mission tore her gaze from Dustil long enough to see Jolee's dark-skinned face grow very pale and he rose to his feet.

"What is it?" Mission asked. Behind her, Zaalbar, sensing danger, let out a low growl.

"The Jedi Temple," Jolee said. "It's under attack. Stay here," he ordered.

Mission was inclined to protest but just then Dustil stirred again and his eyelids fluttered. When she looked around again, the old Jedi and the Wookiee were gone.

"Big Z!" Mission called after him, but there was no answer. "I can't believe he left me," she muttered, and then realized with a start that Dustil's eyes were open—though halfway, as though he were very tired—and he had turned his head toward the sound of her voice.

"Mission?" he croaked.

"Dustil!" Mission exclaimed in a loud whisper. "I'm right here," she said, tears instantly coursing down her cheeks. She took his hand in her own. "You're awake! Thank the gods!" she cried. She touched a hand to his cheek, her fingertips brushing the bandage that covered his entire forehead. "Oh, Dustil, I'm so sorry I yelled at you! I'm so sorry!" she wailed and cried harder.

"I'm sorry too," he whispered and his voice took on a shaky quality and his hand gripped hers very tightly. "Mission…I can't see. What happened…?"

"It's all right, Dustil," she said, using his name though a thousand terms of endearment came to her mind, all of which she thought sounded silly and couldn't come close to describing what he meant to her at that moment. "You got hit real hard on the back of the head, but Dane says the blindness is temporary."

"Temporary…"he murmured. Mission could practically feel the panic radiating off him. "Is she….is she sure?" he asked with forced bravado that was heartbreaking.

"Yes, oh yes," Mission said in her most reassuring voice. "Just temporary."

Dustil seemed to absorb this; a bit of the panic ebbed away and he loosened his grip on her hand…but did not let her go. He pulled her gently to him.

"I wish I could…see you…," he whispered and cleared his throat painfully.

"You will," Mission replied. "Soon."

"Kiss me…please…"

Mission didn't have to be told twice. She bent over him and gently laid her mouth over his. He was smiling weakly when she pulled away, his rich brown eyes searching the blackness for her.

"Is there water?"

Mission nodded and went to fill a cup from a pitcher on a table in the room. While her back was turned, she did not see Dustil's smile fade to be replaced by a perplexed expression, tinged with alarm. As if slowly remembering something—something terrible—his unseeing eyes widened and his hands clenched the bed sheet.

"Lanik," he whispered.

"What, love?" Mission asked, returning with the water. One look at his ashen face and horrified expression and down crashed the water. "Dustil?" she cried, racing to his side. "Are you all right?"

"Lanik," he said again. "It was Lanik who attacked me."

The Twi'lek's eyes widened. "Are you sure?" she asked breathlessly. "I mean, he's a Jedi, you know?"

"I'm sure," Dustil replied. He struggled feebly in an attempt to sit up, finally collapsing in frustration. He found Mission's wrist and grabbed it—painfully so, though he was still weak. "Mission, go. Warn the others. Before it is too late."

"It already is too late," Mission murmured slowly, afraid to upset him farther. "The Jedi Temple was just now attacked."

Dustil squeezed his eyes shut as though to block out her words, but Mission hardly noticed. A new, terrible thought finally found its way into her mind.

"Lirik!" she burst out. "Gods, Dustil, that means Lirik…"

Dustil nodded feebly. He was weakening fast, slowly sinking back into a heavy sleep.

"I have to warn them!" Mission announced and ran for the door. She reached it, stopped, turned around, and raced back to Dustil. "I love you," she said fiercely, and kissed him again before tearing for the door.

"Be careful," he called after her softly.

Mission made it three steps outside the hospital room when strong hands gripped her upper arms and hauled her back.

"What? Let me go!" Mission screamed, struggling and twisting for escape. She was being held by two of the half-dozen Republic guards that ringed the outside of Dustil's room.

"Sorry, ma'am, but no one comes in or goes out of this room," said one of the guards holding her arm. They gently but firmly deposited her back in the room and blocked the door. "We got orders."

"From who? I can't stay here! I have to warn—"

"From the Admiral," replied the soldier. "For your own safety."

"My own…" Mission stuttered and stammered. "You let Jolee and Big Z go!" she reasoned shrilly.

The guard was implacable. "Yes, and then we got the orders. Sorry, ma'am, but you can't leave. Coruscant is under attack."

"Don't you think I know that!" Mission cried. _Get a grip, this yelling isn't working. _ The Twi'lek took a deep breath and tried a new approach. "Listen, it is very important that I get a message to my friends. It's about the attack, I know who's behind it."

The guard didn't move.

"Please, it may already be too late," Mission said softly.

Nothing.

"Do you have a comlink I could use, at least?"

"Sorry, ma'am," the guard replied and shut the door.

"Damn!" Mission cried. She pressed the heel of her hand to her eyes. She looked around at Dustil who had fallen back into heavy sleep, his body exhausted from even such a small exertion. _Dane, I'm sorry,_ she thought miserably. _Be careful, for it was Lirik. It was Lirik all along…_

Mission carefully crawled into the bed beside Dustil and laid her head on his shoulder. She put one arm over him protectively and held him as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Outside, she could just hear the sounds of battle, muffled and far away and she squeezed her eyes shut, and prayed for help she herself could not give.

* * *

Dane Koren watched as a stream of shadowy shapes emerged from around the flaming ruins of the Jedi Temple to her left. Many bore blasters, their shots ripping into the smoke-filled air. Others carried lightsabers…_Dark Jedi, _Dane thought, gripping her own green-bladed lightsaber tightly in her gloved hands. 

The thought did not scare her. On the contrary, she welcomed the Sith in a way, for here was an enemy of flesh and blood—substantial, corporeal bodies—and not the shapeless forms that had haunted her so recently. No more accidents, nightmares, or phantom fears. Here was an enemy that she could strike; that would bleed; that would die…

Though the general in her wanted to rally the pitiful few Jedi who stood with her, there was no time. The dark Jedi and Sith troops who accompanied them were too many and coming too fast. A grim, twisted smile came over Dane's face and she rushed headlong into the fray to meet them. Around her, she was dimly aware that Bastila, Jolee, Carth, and fifteen Jedi were doing the same.

"I'll stasis the blasters!" Bastila called, and slipped out of sight.

Dane could only nod. The odds were impossible, she knew, and there was nothing to but try to take as many down with her as she could.

Dane's first opponent was a dark Jedi wielding a glowing red lightsaber in his black-gloved hands. He whipped it about his person in a flashy show of skill, a manic smile on his twisted features. Dane tore through his defenses that were just that—a show, and drove her lightsaber straight through his heart.

Before that dark Jedi hit the ground, another was coming at her. She swung her 'saber up and to the right, twisting her body around in a circle as she did so. She felt her blade hum through flesh, heard the scream of her opponent, and then the dull thud as his arm hit the ground. Dane silenced his screams as three more dark Jedi came at her.

These three were more skilled and more patient than their brethren. Dane whipped her lightsaber around her in a flurry of defensive parries, feeling the heat of their blades coming at her face more than once. She backed up slowly, letting her instincts guide her movements, for there was no time to stop and think, even for a moment.

Dane knew she couldn't keep this up forever. Something had to change—either they had to err or she did. Before she could expend all of her energies on these three, Dane, with lightning speed, spun around, lightsaber leading, knock them away, to give herself the tiniest bit of space she needed. As she came out of the spin to face them, they closed in again, but she held up her hand and called the Force. Instantly, all three froze under the force of her stasis. The grimaces of hate and evil on their faces contrasted obscenely with the fear in their eyes. Dane ended all three of them quickly and dashed back into the fray.

The rain was pouring down in sheets and the smoke from the smoldering Temple made it nearly impossible to see. Blaster shots whizzed past her face from out of the smoke, frighteningly random in their trajectories.

Dane fought her way to where Carth was kneeling behind a large piece of rubble, peeking over every few seconds to take aim and fire his blasters.

"Where's Bastila?" he shouted as Dane knelt beside him, breathing heavily.

"I don't know," Dane replied. "We need help!"

Carth went to reply when a dark Jedi, snarling like a large panther, leapt over the rubble and struck with his crimson-colored lightsaber with astonishing speed. He hadn't seen Dane, apparently, and the Exile automatically jumped up to defend with her own weapon, when a blaster bolt struck her in the flesh and muscle below her shoulder like a molten bullet.

She cried out and the strength went out of her arm as a deep, ugly ache rolled through it and up her shoulder. But did not lose grip of her lightsaber.

Carth fell back against the rock, one of his blasters skittering away. Before he could get his other blaster up, the dark Jedi struck, grazing Carth's shoulder as the Admiral ducked and rolled. The dark Jedi raised his 'saber to deliver the killing stroke…and was impaled by a blade of glowing green. Carth watched as the dark Jedi's face took on an astonished expression. His lightsaber fell from nerveless fingers and Carth had to jump again to keep from touching the dangerous shaft of light as it bounced and rolled toward him.

The dark Jedi crumpled to the ground and Carth, holding his injured shoulder, crawled to Dane.

She healed her arm and then turned the Force on Carth, mending the burn.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"There's too many of them. We need help," she said again.

"I've called for it," Carth said grimly. "Not that there's much available."

Dane nodded and then peered over the rubble. She couldn't stay here. The other Jedi, many also taking cover behind large pieces of their ruined Temple or behind repulsor-lift speeders parked on the street, needed help.

"Call them again," Dane said and went to leap out from behind the relative safety of the rubble.

"Wait!" Carth shouted. "I don't know what happened to Bastila," he said grimly. "Take out those blasters," he said, pressing a frag grenade into her hand. Dane raised her eyebrows.

He shrugged and managed the smallest of smiles. "You never know when you'll need it."

She nodded once and took off, leaving Carth to pick off the Sith who emerged from the rain and smoke and into his blaster sights.

* * *

Jolee Bindo was getting too old for this. 

He raced out of the med facility with Mission's pet Wookiee fast on his heels and down the street toward the Jedi Temple. It came up on his right, a flaming shell of rubble and smoke that appeared as though it had spilled its guts—in the form of large chunks of stone and marble—out into the street. From behind it, poured what looked like fifty or so Sith—soldiers and dark Jedi alike. The thought ran through his mind that someone ought to follow that trail of Sith to its source, but his rage and horror took hold and all he wanted was revenge.

It wasn't a very Jedi-like sentiment, but the old man didn't care. He may not have always been the most prudent, careful, and sedate Jedi, but the scene he saw unfolding before him—the out and out _disrespect_ leveled at the Jedi Order, was too much for him. With a primal cry that sounded much like the Wookiee's behind him, Jolee drew his lightsaber and charged the streaming Sith from behind.

He was hopelessly outmatched, but he didn't care about that either. He watched as a group of blaster-wielding dark soldiers opened fire on the surviving Jedi. Jolee called upon the Force and thrust it at them. The Force-push sent them flying, crashing into their brethren. Jolee nodded, satisfied, until other Sith, now made aware of his presence, turned around and took aim at him. From what little he could see through the driving rain and smoke, twenty Sith and dark Jedi had detached themselves from the contingent that pressed on down the street, and raced toward he and the Wookiee.

The wizened Jedi deflected blaster bolt after blaster bolt from behind partial cover of an immense stone archway that once made up the way to the Arboretum. He took satisfaction as many of his deflected shots struck the oncoming dark Jedi. He grew unsettled, however, at the sheer number of those dark Jedi that rushed at him. Zaalbar's bowcaster went off again and again; each _twang _of the weapon coinciding with a black-clad body dropping to the ground before them. But for every Sith that fell, there was another to take it's place.

"This is it," Jolee muttered. "The end. I always liked you," he told Zaalbar, deflecting shots and feeling his arms grow tired for the effort. "You were the only one who knew when to keep his mouth shut."

The Wookiee made a reply but Jolee didn't hear him. He could deflect blaster shots for a time but once the dark Jedi and their lightsabers reached him, he knew he would succumb. He was busy mentally preparing for his inevitable return to the Force, and so it took him a moment to realize that some of the blaster shots were not coming from in front of him, but from behind him—and they were striking down the approaching Sith who were now flailing in fear and trying to turn tail and run.

Jolee spared a glance behind him and saw fifty or so Republic soldiers streaming from around a bend in the street. With orderly precision, they took aim with their blasters and fired. Jolee nearly cheered until one young Republic soldier fell to the ground, a blaster bolt having torn through her stomach. His fury renewed, Jolee joined up with the stream of Republic as they attacked the Sith from behind, looking, in their clean uniforms, like wedge of light lancing into the darkness.

* * *

Bastila Shan ducked into an alley that separated the undamaged part of the Temple wall and another building. She wiped the hair that fell into her eyes, sodden as it was from the rain, and peered into the smoky haze. 

From her vantage, she could see how clearly they were outnumbered—fifty Sith against fifteen Jedi, Carth, the Exile and herself. Carth had slowed the tide with a frag grenade, allowing the Jedi to take up cover. His blaster fire well aimed but pitifully inadequate. Bastila had seen, briefly, the Exile fighting hand-to-hand with dark Jedi, before disappearing into the chaos. _Where is Lanik? Where is Juhani? _ But those Jedi were gone, perhaps dead and Bastila hadn't the time to mourn them.

A group of fifteen or so Sith had taken up a post behind a fallen section of wall and were firing their blasters again and again at the Jedi. She threw a stasis hold on the lot of them but then was at a loss as to how to kill them without getting killed herself. The compatriots of the frozen Sith were searching about for the Jedi that had worked the Force over them and Bastila knew she could not take them all on herself. The dilemma was solved as she saw the Exile, off to her right and behind her, lob a frag grenade into the group of stasis-held Sith. Those not held dove for cover.

A small flash of light burst out and the frag grenade's concussion rolled through the air. When the smoke cleared, most of the Sith were dead and the Exile had disappeared into the rain and smoke again.

But the frag grenade was one small victory. _There are too many of them…_Bastila thought for the hundredth time. _ I hope Carth has called for help, otherwise…_

Bastila did not allow herself to think of the otherwise. Somehow, the Sith had ambushed them despite Revan's warning, and she was damned if she was going to allow them to succeed. The utter horror of the attack had shaken her but she was grim and determined now. _We are outnumbered, but there are ways around such odds. _

Bastila moved deeper into the darkened alley and, feeling a little bit as though she were hiding, sat down cross-legged in the shadows. She laid her hands on her knees and closed her eyes, blocking out the sounds of battle, the screams of the dying, and the roar of the flames that were consuming the Jedi Temple.

Bastila blocked it all out and focused, drawing upon the Force, bending it to her will and sending it out into the field, into the attacking Sith. Unconsciously, a small smile touched her lips for there were few Jedi who had mastered Battle Meditation…

* * *

Macen Vorn's first thought when he stepped off the merchant freighter was that he was too late. From the docking bay, he could hear the sounds of battle and could see the orange glow in the sky amidst the clouds of storm and smoke. He pushed his way past the gawking crowds who were murmuring to themselves. Macen heard the word 'Sith' once or twice and his heart skipped a beat. He pulled both blasters from his holsters and raced toward the sounds of chaos. 

First and foremost, his eyes sought Dane—a glimpse of white-blond hair or a flash of green to tell him she was all right. But the rain was too heavy and the smoke too thick. By the time Macen neared the smoldering Jedi Temple, he had his own life to worry about.

* * *

Atton Rand watched the chaos unfold in front of him, narrowing his eyes through the smoke of his cigarra. 

Five minutes before he had seen the orange glow in the sky and had thought for a brief, nervous moment, that something had happened to the _Ebon Hawk…_ Then he remembered, with a chill settling in his chest, the conversation he had overheard the night before.

He had raced to the docking bay, past the _Ebon Hawk _itself, and toward the Jedi Temple, HK-47 clanking behind him. He saw the enormity of the Sith force, saw the Jedi pinned against pieces of their own destroyed Temple. He had pulled a cigarra out of a battered pack and lit it with trembling hands, and tried to find some way to cope with the appallingly monstrous feeling that had settled into his soul.

_What am I? _

He had no answer and so he puffed on his cigarra, the rain soaking him through.

"Urging Statement," HK-47 droned now, "let us hurry, Master Jaq. It would appear they have begun the killing without us. I don't want to miss a thing."

Atton nodded once, slowly. He dropped his cigarra on the ground, crushed it with his boot, and drew his orange, double-bladed lightsaber. But a thought stopped him.

Atton suddenly imagined himself standing at the edge of a large precipice, looking down into the blackness below…teetering on that edge. It would be so easy to walk away, and, by so doing, jump off that precipice and into the darkness where there was no guilt, no shame. No love either, but a small sacrifice that would be if the ache in his heart at the sight of the death before him would just go away.

But the Atton in him was not dead yet, no matter how much Jaq wheedled and cajoled with the voice of a blue-eyed dark Jedi and an arsenal of memory at his disposal.

_Not yet, _Atton thought, and stepped away from the edge.

Atton ran until he was in the midst of the battle until he was surrounded by Sith on all sides. His lightsaber was a spinning circle of death as he cut down the dark Jedi with a frightening intensity. Rage like he'd never known it assaulted him and he fed it eagerly; those that faced him died with terrified grimaces on their faces.

With every dark Jedi he killed Atton sought the death of the part of him that had beaten Macen, that had itched to strike Dane, the part of him that had stayed silent. He struck out again and again until there was a ring of black-clad bodies around him, but still they came and Atton began to despair that that dark part of him had no end…

* * *

"We are losing!" Lirik hissed. The rain had plastered his hair on his head and into his eyes but he didn't seem to notice. He was standing on the rooftop of a building that was directly behind the crumbling Jedi Temple. Jude Gracus and his twin stood beside him, the former peering at the battle through a pair of night-vision field binoculars. 

"I hate to say it, but he is right," Lanik put in soberly. "I can feel Bastila working her Battle Meditation. Our men our becoming confused and slow. It will only be a matter of time before they turn—"

"And look there!" Lirik shrieked suddenly, pointing to his left where a small group of Republic soldiers were advancing deeper into the Sith ranks. "And there!" Lirik swiveled his pointed hand to the right, indicating blaster fire coming from two different sources, and a whirl of orange light that could only mean another Jedi and his lightsaber had arrived.

"Perhaps, dearest, we should consider a new strategy," Lanik said to Jude in a soothing voice.

"Yeah, why don't you power up the triplets back there and—"

Lirik's words were cut off my Jude's open-palm slap to his face. Lirik reeled while Lanik, his eyes growing dark, rubbed his cheek.

"Sorry, lover," Jude cooed at Lanik. "But he must be taught respect for the Dark Lord of the Sith!" she said, glaring at Lirik furiously.

"_I hate, hate, hate, hate, hate, hate her," _came Lirik's thoughts.

Lanik sighed. _Really, brother. Grow up. _He felt time slipping away from them at an alarming rate and he began to get nervous. He silenced his brother's next complaint with a dark look and turned to the woman. "Jude…?"

But the dark Jedi held up a slender hand. "I wanted a war, and I got one, oh yes," she muttered, almost to herself. Louder, she said, "It is time for phase two." She turned to Lanik. "Find Bastila. Stop her and her silly Battle Meditation. Lirik, lead the rest of our forces down into the street. Cut into the pathetic Republic resistance from behind and crush them all."

Lirik nodded eagerly, for he had itched to join the battle.

Lanik hesitated. "And Darth Tertius?"

Jude glanced up into the sky. "My diversion of the Admiral's troops won't last much longer. Yes, it is time to finish this." She smiled at him wickedly, the light of the burning Jedi Temple dancing in her dark eyes.

"It is time for the Jedi to meet their enemy, and know the real and true power of the dark side…"

* * *

**_Replies to reviewers on the home page. (Or will be soon.) _**

**_Hope you all like the battle so far (crosses fingers) Second half, coming up. Special thanks to Miss Becky for the beta, support and patience to listen to me blab about this fic day in and day out. Love ya!_**


	35. Siege Part II

**_Author's Note: I am WAY overdue for another disclaimer, so here goes. Star Wars and everything those two words imply are the exclusive property of George Lucas. Knights of the Old Republic and its attendant characters, planets, hold-out blasters, mass shadow generators, medpacs, etc, are all his too, (and let's not forget Bioware and Obsidian). I am not making a dime off this—sadly—and the only characters that belong to me are the Thrakill twins, O'Bannon, Darth Tertius (but not the 'Darth' part) Jude and Macen, although I'm not too sure about that either. Anyway, don't sue! This is just for fun._**

**_

* * *

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**Chapter 35**

**Siege**

**(Part II)**

"Sir," Deke Targan's voice piped from out of Carth Onasi's comlink, "it's over. We're containing the last of them now."

Carth breathed a sigh of relief. "We're going to make it," he muttered to himself. Harshly, to his Lieutenant, he said, "Deke! Report your position. I can't see a damn thing in this blasted smoke."

"We're about eight meters west of the Temple, sir."

"How many is 'we'?" Carth demanded.

"About twenty sir," came the young man's reply.

Carth pressed his lips together in a thin line. _Twenty…out of fifty. _"Stay sharp, Lieutenant," he ordered. "Take care of business, round up any prisoners, but only be as charitable as is safe. And Deke?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Watch yourself."

"Yes, sir." Carth could all but hear the young man's smile and then the comlink went out.

"We did it," the Admiral muttered to himself.

There was no ally near enough to hear his words—the rain, the thunder, the blasterfire, the screams of the dying and the injured—all worked to muffle Carth's words. But it didn't matter. The handful of surviving Jedi felt the truth of it without having to hear it spoken aloud…They were winning.

The fifty or so Republic soldiers that had come to their aid had taken the Sith forces by surprise, cutting into their ranks from behind and had, with militaristic precision and discipline, thinned out their numbers. Carth, the Exile and the small group of Jedi—of which perhaps only half a dozen had survived—had held the Sith on the front. An impossible feat, Carth knew, but for the arrival of reinforcements of sorts…

Out of the corner of his eye, to his right, Carth had seen that another Jedi, one not in robes but wielding an orange lightsaber. This man, dark-haired and very tall had appeared from seemingly out of nowhere and had hurled himself, with an almost suicidal frenzy, into the heart of the Sith force. The Jedi began cutting down his dark counterparts with a fury that Carth would have found disturbing…had the man not been fighting on his side.

Further to his right, Carth had heard another set of blasters firing into the enemy, though the Admiral was too far away, and the smoke too thick, to see who the newest ally was. Now, we wondered who both of those men were that had likely helped turn the tide in their favor.

_Who cares? _Carth thought tiredly, but with mounting gladness. _ A win is a win._

But it wasn't over yet. Carth had seen enough battle in his forty-two years to know the ebbs and flows of it. The tide had receded but it would return, he was sure of it. The other Jedi were sending up a ragged cheer as the Sith tried to retreat toward the way they had come and wound up face to face with the Republic force. _We're winning, but we haven't won, _he amended. _Careful…_

Carth wiped his soot-smeared face on the sleeve of his sodden red Admiral's uniform and left the immense chunk of Temple wall that had provided him cover. He advanced on the Sith slowly, picking off strays here and there. He couldn't see more than a few feet in front of him—the downpour was slowly dousing the fires that burned the Jedi temple, filling the air with even more thick, rain-heavy smoke. A shape loomed up on Carth's right. He swiveled his blaster and nearly fired, pulling up in time as the shape became a man—a blaster-wielding one, and clearly not a Sith. The man was drenched to the bone—as was everyone on that street—and heavily armed. A blaster was gripped in each hand and a long vibrosword was strapped to his waist.

The man, his own age, Carth judged, stopped before him and saluted, a wry smile on his soot-covered face.

"Admiral," the man said in a quiet, gravelly voice. "Macen Zachariah Vorn reporting in, sir."

Carth smirked and returned the salute. "You're not one of mine," he said, giving the stranger a once over. "Not that I'm complaining," he added.

"I served in the Mandalorian wars," Macen replied by way of explanation.

"That was a long time ago and I certainly wasn't your superior officer," Carth returned. Both men had turned their attentions back on the smoke-filled street, moving toward the flashes of red light that meant an enemy lightsaber was still swinging.

"Old habits, sir," Macen replied. "It looks like we've won the day. Or the night, as it were."

"Maybe," Carth returned, peering into the haze. He wanted to rally his men, tally the losses and regroup. _This damn smoke isn't helping. _ "Too early to tell."

Macen nodded, himself peering into the smoke-filled street, his eyes searching. "That's true enough. The casualties…"

He let his words trail off but Carth got his meaning. It was too early to tell what kind of a win it was; one of complete victory—which Carth knew was near impossible—or a win that came at a terrible price. _Bastila, _Carth thought with a pang of fear. He hadn't considered how much he had come to care for his friend until this moment.

The Admiral glanced at Macen. "So you're not one of mine," he said. "Whose are you?"

"Dane Koren's," Macen replied automatically. "Non-commissioned," he added ruefully, to answer the Admiral's raised eyebrow.

Carth snorted a laugh despite his weariness.

"You seen her?" Macen asked.

Macen's question had been posed casually enough, but there was nothing casual about the fearful look in his hard blue eyes.

"Not in a while," Carth replied slowly.

Macen glanced at him. "Well, sir, if you don't mind…?"

Carth nodded. "Go. If you—"

The Admiral's words were cut off by the not-so-distant sound of a battle cry going up, emanating from near the crumbling Jedi Temple. The sound swelled and grew and Carth and Macen exchanged silent, grim glances. The number of voices in that roaring clarion sent their hearts to thudding dully in their chests and their hands to gripping their blasters with white knuckles.

"Gods," Carth breathed. _So much for the win. _

"How many—?" Macen asked.

"More than fifty, at least. Not a lot, but more than we can take right now," Carth replied grimly. He put his wrist to his mouth and barked into his comlink. "Deke? What the hell is going on?"

"Sir!" came the young man's fearful reply accompanied by tinny-sounding shouts of alarm. "More Sith! Maybe a hundred! They're pouring in from behind the Temple!"

"Fall back!" Carth shouted. "Toward me! Toward the docking bay!"

"Sir, I…"

The comlink was suddenly filled with the sound of battle, of blasters being fired, of men screaming, and of lightsabers being ignited…and then the line went dead. _Deke…_

But Carth didn't need his comlink to hear the battle begin anew—the thundering footsteps of a hundred men rampaging into the smoke was clear enough from where he and Macen stood. The two men exchanged another grim glance, thinking the same thought—any moment a tide of black-clad Sith was going to wash over they and the remaining Jedi and, in all likelihood, drown them all.

"Will these help?" Macen asked quickly. "I mean, our friends could be in there…"

Carth looked at what the man was offering him—two sonic grenades—and took them gratefully. "Yes, they'll do. They should slow the bastards down without killing anyone we know." He eyed Macen. "Where'd you get them?"

"Merchant I hitched a ride with," Macen replied. "I think he was smuggling arms," he added and activated his grenade. "He's probably up to no good, but you should go easy on him just this once…maybe let him off with a warning."

Carth had never before found himself in a situation where he was about to throw a grenade into an oncoming horde of the enemy that had him outnumbered and cornered while chuckling at the same time.

"If we get out of this alive, I'll give him a damn medal," Carth replied. "Ready?"

Macen nodded. Carth gave a three count and then both men rose from their crouched positions and hurled the sonic explosives into the black morass that was surging towards them. The Admiral offered a silent prayer that if any of their allies were in the midst of that tide of Sith, that they were not overly affected by the grenades. _Of course, if any _are_ in that mess, they wouldn't be alive anyway,_ Carth thought darkly.

Both he and Macen heard the sonic grenades go off—a double explosion of silence that blew holes in the advancing Sith, knocking them to the ground and leaving those closest dazed and disoriented. As intended, the tide was halted momentarily by the blasts, and Carth hoped it was enough to buy his scattered friends time they needed to take up new positions. _Or retreat. We should retreat. _ But there was no where to retreat to. Behind Carth was the city and he could not, while there was breath in him, allow the Sith to seep out into the populace like a black ichor, infecting all that it touched.

"I'm going in there," Macen told him, and dumped a half-dozen more grenades of different varieties at Carth's feet. "I won't need these."

"Macen…" Carth began. He liked the other man immediately and a sudden sense of foreboding came over the Admiral.

"I have to find her," Macen replied simply, as though the matter was out of his hands.

Carth nodded grimly. "Good luck, Macen," he said and saluted his would-be soldier. "And may the Force be with you." He didn't know what compelled him to say that, but it sounded exactly right.

Macen, wearing a rueful, almost melancholy grin, saluted in return. "I hope so," he said and Carth watched him disappear into the smoky haze. _If only I had fifty more just like him…_

Carth glanced into the sky as he took up a position behind another piece of the ruined Jedi Temple, cursing it for what it showed him: blackened clouds heavy with rain, crackling lightning and smoke…but not the ships of the three regiments that had been falsely ordered into training maneuvers in the atmosphere above them.

One thought went through his mind as he picked up an adhesive grenade and prepared to lob into the oncoming fray.

_Sabotage…_

_

* * *

_

Sabotage was the word that Juhani had muttered blankly as she had stormed her way into the first wave of Sith. There was no way for Jolee Bindo to know that, of course, but it was the word that came instantly to his mind as the second wave poured from behind the ruined Temple.

The old man was huddled behind some debris with a handful of Republic soldiers and Zaalbar, catching his breath and starting to believe that the worst was over. Around him, hesitant smiles were beginning to emerge on the soldiers' faces and the Wookiee growled contentedly, though wearily. But Jolee, through the Force, felt a shadow fall over him—one that turned the blood in his veins to ice. He opened his mouth to shout a warning just as the Sith battle cry went up…and the chaos was begun anew.

The second wave of Sith broke over them, streaming from behind the ruined Temple and Jolee cursed himself for not acting on his instinct of earlier that told him to seek the source of the enemy power.

"This is some poo-doo right here," he muttered, and then he was drowning in the wave of Sith.

Around him, the Republic soldiers fired their blasters, though many were shooting blanks—their blasters having run out of energy and their cells not yet recharged. The rampaging Sith took advantage of the impotent weapons and Jolee winced as the screams of the dying filled the air. He hefted his blue-bladed lightsaber—the weapon felt heavier with each passing minute—and lifted it just in time to stop the forward momentum of a dark Jedi's own arcing crimson blade.

Jolee parried the thrust, shoving the pale-faced man back. He quickly twisted his wrist, swiveling his lightsaber's blade around to attack his opponent's right side. The dark Jedi hissed like a viper and blocked the blow and Jolee saw three more black-clad Jedi advance on him.

With a renewed energy borne out of fear and desperation, Jolee attacked. His lightsaber cut through the darkened, thundering night, clashing against scarlet blades again and again. From the left, the right and from dead ahead the dark Jedi came and Jolee knew he would live only so long as his flurry of strikes held out. _There's just too many of them,_ he thought. His muscles screamed for mercy, his bones ached with every shocking encounter between his weapon and theirs and the temptation to succumb was a real one. But he fought on with the same fire that had fueled him throughout his long life, the fire that had sustained him during those long years after his wife's death. And so the unmistakable, whirring hum of his lightsaber cut the air again and again…and the Sith kept coming.

Behind him, the Wookiee roared—whether it was from pain or anger, Jolee couldn't tell. The old man knew was that one moment he was fighting what he was sure was his last good fight and the next an explosion occurred. At least, Jolee thought it was an explosion. There was no fire or shrapnel, but rather a _whooshing _of air and a sound so loud he couldn't hear it. The best his exhausted and frantic mind could come up with was that he—and the Sith and rapidly diminishing Republic soldiers around him—had been struck by a vacuum of space. Black-clad bodies went flying and Jolee's world went silent.

_Sonic grenade,_ he realized and before he knew what was happening, a coarse-haired arm was wrapped around his waist and half-dragging, half-carrying him through the chaos.

"What in the name of…?" Jolee said, although he could not hear his own voice, but felt it only, in his chest. He struggled feebly, for he was tired beyond endurance, and then realized Mission's Wookiee was hauling him out of certain death and to safety.

Zaalbar set Jolee down inside what was once a room inside the Temple. The roof was gone, one wall knocked flat, and the rest strewn with debris and scorched stone, but it was a shelter from the battle raging on the street outside.

"Thanks, Zaalbar," Jolee said. He stuck a finger inside his ear and shook it vigorously. "Don't think, though, that I owe you some kind of life-debt," he muttered, sinking wearily against the wall. "You don't want my old bones following you around for the rest of your days, complaining and—"

"Master Bindo?"

The old man, whose hearing was returning slowly, looked around to see Juhani and her Padawan crouched on the other side of the ruined room. It was the Padawan—a young man named Mical—who had spoken. Juhani, Jolee saw with a pang, was lying beside the blond man, unmoving.

Jolee crawled over to the Cathar. Soot and blood—lots of blood—stained her robes, and the skin of her neck and arm was blackened and shiny. Jolee had seen lightsaber burns before—had inflicted them numerous times himself—and they never ceased to disgust him.

He laid a finger to her neck, above the burn, feeling for a pulse. He found it, faint and uneven, but there nonetheless.

"I tried to heal her as much as I was able," Mical said miserably under the din of rain, war, and fire. "I think…she is beyond me."

Jolee patted the young man on the cheek with a sooty hand. "She'll be all right, she's tougher than you think," he said, not having the slightest idea if that was true. "But we have to get out of here…_now_." He looked up at Zaalbar and noticed, for the first time, the Wookiee's fur was singed in more than one place and blood dampened his coat at the shoulder. "You okay to lift her?"

Zaalbar growled his assent and picked up the Cathar easily.

Jolee nodded. "Good. Those sonic grenades came from up the street, ahead of us," he said. "Let's head on over that way and see what's what."

Mical nodded wordlessly, clearly relieved to have someone making decisions. The three—Zaalbar carrying Juhani's limp body—crept along the ruined Temple, parallel to the battle on the street where it was apparent, even through the driving rain and smoke, that the Sith were fast running out of living opponents.

* * *

Bastila Shan was jarred from her meditation as debris from the Jedi Temple tumbled over her. She was struck on the head, on the shoulder—a jagged rock tearing into the flesh there and making her wince. But she released the Force willingly for the Sith soldiers she had been using the Battle Meditation against were all but dead. She smiled wanly and sighed with relief. _Perhaps we have survived after all…_

Bastila rose from her meditative pose on the ground…and then leaned heavily against one wall that formed the alley she was in. A wave of fear, hate and death crashed over her so strongly her knees buckled and it was all she could do to keep from collapsing under the sudden, heavy weight of the dark side power.

_Oh gods, what is it…?_

Her heart thudded in terror at the new threat, but what stole her breath away with horror was when another, smaller part of her answered the dark energy's call with a lustful, eager longing. Her time with Malak, his torturing of her, his taunting and teasing her with small tastes of the power of the dark side, and then her complete fall when that power became hers… It all came back to her and the dread of it was not the remembered pain and shame, but how it seduced her still. She leaned heavily against the wall, a feeling akin to the lust she had felt with Lanik, throbbing in her belly. _Have I always been this close to falling…?_

Bastila closed her eyes and willed the longing to subside. Even as it slowly, thankfully, ebbed away, she wondered if it would always be there inside her. She took several steadying breaths and opened her eyes and was not all surprised to see Lanik Thrakill standing before her, a yellow, double-bladed lightsaber glowing in his hand.

"Quite a night, isn't it?" he asked, his voice lilting and low. He stepped closer to her, the flashes of lightning revealing the dark beauty of his face, the glint in his cold blue eyes. Bastila, against her will, felt the lust build anew. She stepped away from him, but her back found the wall. She was conscious of his lightsaber, still ignited, so near her flesh, but she was not afraid. _Gods help me, I want him even now…_

"You continue to surprise me," he purred, moving closer still, so that his body was pressed to hers.

Bastila said nothing but let him move nearer. _No, not again…_screamed a tiny voice in her mind, but she felt weak, intoxicated by him somehow and the voice's words made no sense to her.

"Do you feel it, Bastila?" he whispered. "Such a night as this…" One hand trailed down her cheek and he leaned in, his lips brushing hers, his tongue snaking out between his words to lash at her lips until she felt dizzy with longing. "There is power here…in this night. I know you feel it. I know you _want _it…"

Bastila closed her eyes as he kissed her and the lust that had been building in her since before his arrival in that dark alleyway flared anew. She opened herself to him with that kiss, feeling his own desire as he pressed himself against her…and then, suddenly and abruptly, like a black velvet blanket being ripped off of her, Lanik was torn away as a small contingent of Sith stormed the alley…

Lanik Thrakill had come into the alley expecting to kill Bastila Shan. Of course, stealing a few pleasurable moments with her first was not out of the question…nothing aroused him more than to feed his lust as men screamed in pain and died around him. It wasn't a scenario that came along everyday and so Lanik had no qualms about taking advantage of it. However, he had not expected to find Bastila similarly aroused. He had heard of her fall to the dark side before but she hadn't revealed the slightest hint that she could do so again in all his time with her on Coruscant. The prospect was intoxicating…to turn her right there and then or kill her as they kissed in the storming night…_Delicious, _he thought.

But then the Sith came.

Lanik tore himself away from Bastila and managed to get his lightsaber up—which he had thoughtfully kept ignited—in time to block the first assailant's blow. He drove the dark Jedi back and found himself between Bastila and only four Sith opponents. He wouldn't be recognized by lowly grunts such as these—Lanik had spent much of his time undercover as he was now and so was not a known face among his own kind. With a curse and a growl, Lanik fought and killed the dark Jedi that crowded the alley, only because he had no choice. Not that he mourned them…not at all…

Bastila felt as though she had been sinking slowly into a deep, thick, dark morass, only to be shoved roughly and abruptly to the surface. She blinked her eyes and shook her head and turned to see Lanik defending her from four Sith Jedi.

A confusion of emotion and reality warred within her. _For a moment, I could swear he was…but no. He is killing dark Jedi, protecting me from them…It is my own weakness that has clouded my judgement. _She felt an appalling shame burn her cheeks.

Lanik finished the last of the Sith and turned to her, a dark, foreboding look in his eyes.

"Come," Bastila said in a weak voice, "we must get to Carth. Do you feel it?" She bit back her words, remembering his. _Do you feel it? Power…_ She shook her head and, more strongly, said, "Let's go. We have to join the others and face this new threat."

"Threat," Lanik muttered. "Yes, let's do that."

Bastila eyed him warily and moved out from the relative safety of the alley, toward the docking bay where she remembered Carth had been last, Lanik beside her.

For some reason she couldn't explain, Bastila made sure her back was never to him and that her lightsaber, ignited quickly as they left, was between them at all times.

* * *

All Dane Koren saw was black. 

Black-robed dark Jedi wielding glowing scarlet blades in their black-gloved hands. Their eyes were like black marbles in the black night, set into pale moon faces that cackled or sneered at her as they advanced. The Exile held her emerald-bladed saber before her like a beacon, hoping its purer light would drive back the Sith that surrounded her, but there would be no reprieve. She was going to have to _use_ that blade if she was to live and a sense of righteous anger came over her. It had been long since Dane had had the opportunity to use her considerable Force skills and she decided now that the time had come.

Moving with a fluidity that belied her exhaustion, Dane called upon every skill she had ever known—Force and otherwise—and levied it at her enemies. She held up a hand and lay a Stasis over half a dozen Sith, then spun and Force-pushed the mass that sought to ambush her from behind. Others rushed at her and Dane waited not a second before crouching low and spinning in a tight circle, her lightsaber held out before her. She cut several unsuspecting and over-confident Sith down and as she came out of her crouch, she threw her head back, opened her broad mouth as wide as she could, and unleashed the most potent Force Scream she had ever summoned in her life.

The Sith closest to her shrank back, covering their ears and screaming themselves, as the sound ripped through their heads. Those still locked in Stasis were helpless—the muscles and cords in their necks tensing drastically was their only response. Dane cut down those made helpless by her Scream and the Stasis. The Sith that had chosen to make her as their prey—about twenty—were now reduced to twelve.

Dane took the few seconds afforded her while the Sith regrouped to put up a Force Barrier. It was just as well—no sooner had she put up the protective shield, did she feel an ambitious dark Jedi try to choke her with his own evil Force powers. But a tingling in her neck was all the young man accomplished before Dane impaled him on the end of her lightsaber.

To her right, Dane saw a flash of blue light and another group of Sith were suddenly up to their knees in ice. They flailed and struggled but they were stuck fast to the ground. Dane was beset by the Sith that had targeted her and so could not watch the fate of those that had been made victim by someone's cryoban grenade. But another flash of light and heat accompanied by the screams of the dying told her the cryoban grenade had been followed by a plasma grenade and those Sith were no more.

Dane smiled grimly and faced her own opponents, whose wicked sneers were slipping off their pale faces. The Force was rampaging through her, setting her veins on fire with power and making every nerve tingle with mounting pressure. She itched to unleash it all at once, but her body was ready to fight. She channeled the Force that was welling in her into an impenetrable Force Barrier to keep any dark energies off of her…and then she charged.

Dane's lightsaber became as light as air and she wielded it—thrust and parried it—in a perfect dance of death. The green light arced and sliced, cutting air—and then flesh—as she dove into the midst of the Sith. Her body fell easily into the patterns and rhythms of the Shii Cho lightsaber form, and it guided her weapon against the many crimson blades that sought to strike her down. A ring of dead Sith began to form around her but still they came and a tiny voice in the back of her mind, nearly inaudible under the roar of battle that filled her ears, spoke of a fear that there were simply too many Sith.

Another flash of light and then Dane recognized the gooey residue of an adhesive grenade form around the legs of the enemy, again to her right. The reach of the grenade was enough so that some of the greenish-blue substance clung to the Sith she fought. _There is hope still,_ Dane thought and the thought brought her strength.

Though she knew it was risky, Dane channeled the Force and manipulated it again so that it coursed through her veins and electrified her muscles beyond what she was normally capable of. Force Speed was nothing to be trifled with—she knew it would leave her over-exhausted and vulnerable, but she was running out of time. With her abilities now accelerated tenfold, Dane turned on her favorite and most effective fighting style—the flurry.

The verdant glow of her lightsaber became a blur as she advanced on her enemy. A dark Jedi thrust at her midsection with his red blade. In a flash, Dane parried it, thrust his blade wide and carved him up with movements so fast, she felt as though she were somehow sitting in back of her body, watching it as it moved. It seemed that if she tried to do anything as slow as _think_, she would ruin the perfection of her attack.

Three other Sith closed in while a fourth crept up from behind. All four attacked at once, confidant that their numbers—if not their skill—could finish the Jedi woman. With the speed given her by the Force, Dane managed to deflect the blows of three of her opponents but as she spun to parry the thrust of the dark Jedi behind her, the blade of an enemy grazed the back of her knee. Searing pain shot up her leg, as though her nerves had been set afire. A lightsaber's touch, even a light one, burned like nothing else—white hot and deep—an ache that glowed with agony.

Dane was thrown off balance by the pain that had settled into the back of her leg and fell to one knee. She almost didn't bring up her lightsaber in time to block the downward slicing strike of a dark Jedi. The block left her extremely vulnerable to attack at her midsection and it was only because of the Force Speed was she able to recover in time.

Dane got to her feet, her lightsaber and that of the dark Jedi hissing and crackling as they remained pressed together. Another Sith, seeing her exposed side, thrust his blade. Dane shoved against her first attacker, disengaging her lightsaber long enough to block the blow coming at her right side. As she blocked it, she kicked out with her left—and uninjured leg—and brought her booted heel against her first attacker's kneecap. She felt it shatter at the impact and the dark Jedi screamed. Dane ended both of the Sith with a flurry of strikes that filled the air with that particular sound that was made only by a whirring lightsaber.

But still they came.

"Too many," Dane murmured as she fought off another, and then another Sith. She feared that her comrades were dead, for she saw no further grenades. But the faint sound of blasters yet firing bought her a minute's worth of hope.

A dark Jedi emerged from the smoke and rain, a manic grin on his face and his red lightsaber swinging. Dane, feeling the Force Speed begin to ebb, engaged this opponent. He was more skilled, this one, and did not go down so easily, even against Dane's accelerated flurry attacks. Again and again their blades met with a crackling hiss of energy between the low whirring sounds of their swings. Dane struck at him high and then low, from side to side, and yet she could not find an opening in his defenses.

The Force Speed left her entirely and suddenly Dane's body was moving in what felt like slow motion. The Sith, with a snarling laugh, went on the defensive and suddenly Dane found herself being driven back. Every time their weapons clashed, the Exile felt the heavy thud crash up her arms. Her lightsaber suddenly weighed a thousand kilos and the pain in her knee chose that moment to begin screaming bloody murder. Her parries were coming slower and the heat of her enemy's lightsaber drew closer and closer to her face. She was driven back further, holding her weapon with two hands before her like a shield while her opponent bashed and bashed.

Finally, Dane's body gave out. Her heel caught on a rock or piece of debris from the now-smoldering Temple to her left, and she fell to the ground. The dark Jedi stood over her, a sneer of triumph on what otherwise would have been handsome features.

_All right then, _Dane thought, _this is how it will end…Atton, wherever you are, I will love you always…_

But despite the inevitability of her own death, she refused to give up. Her breath came in hitching gasps and sweat poured down her soot-covered face, but she did not take her eyes off of her adversary. She tried to find the strength to call the Force, but she had none. She tried to swing her weapon offensively at the dark Jedi's legs, but she hadn't the strength for that either. All Dane could manage was to raise her lightsaber with trembling hands to ward off the killing blow…but the blow never came.

The Sith standing over her stopped suddenly and cocked his head, as though listening for something. Dane watched—for she hadn't the strength to do anything else—as a slow smile spread over her enemy's pale face. Confusion touched her own, but then she felt what the dark Jedi did…and she wanted to scream.

Dark side energy, a hundred times more potent than what she felt on Korriban and rivaling that of Malachor V, was coming toward her. She imagined a roiling black cloud was approaching, green lightning crackling within its oily vapors—a storm of dark energy that put the real storm that raged overhead with its relentless rain to shame.

But it was no storm that came.

Dimly, through the smoke and haze and from her prone position on the ground, Dane saw three hooded figures advancing down the street. They moved—glided, nearly—in such perfect unison, they appeared not as flesh but as spectres or phantoms. They marched through the downpour, one beside the other, their crimson lightsabers clutched in black-gloved hands. The effect of their movements, the exact and flawless _sameness _of them, was eerie and Dane shivered for nothing human moved like that. Surviving Republic soldiers—and there weren't many—attempted to shoot at the three Sith lords but the figures deflected them in a harmony of easy movements, as though swatting at gnats…and then they attacked.

Dane watched in horror as blue lightning crackled from three identical hands that were lifted with identical precision and levied at the soldiers with identical fury. Dane could just hear the screams of the dying and then the Sith Lords moved on.

"Dark Lord of the Sith," murmured her opponent reverently, drawing her attention away from the three hooded figures. He turned his attention back to Dane lying prone at his feet and hefted his lightsaber. "A pity you will never know his power," he said and the weapon went up.

Dane couldn't hope to block it, though she managed to bring her own green blade up in a pitiful show of defense. She was not afraid, not for herself, for her death had come. The arrival of that _thing_, that Sith Lord that was nothing but an advancing mass of hate and fear, made her afraid for those who would live after her to face him.

The dark Jedi smiled and started his downward stroke when a blue shaft of concentrated light suddenly appeared in his gut. The Sith made a horrible sound—a confusion of inhaled and exhaled air as the man tried to gasp and scream in pain at the same time. He fell over dead before his body could decide and Dane saw Jolee—with Zaalbar and Mical behind him. The Wookiee held a very still Juhani in his strong arms.

She closed her eyes briefly with relief for the fear her shocked and exhausted body hadn't felt came latently. She trembled and let her lightsaber arm fall.

"Now, no time for dallying, missy," Jolee said tiredly but firmly. "Can you walk?"

Dane called on the Force, as much as she could in her weakened state. The pain behind her knee receded but only barely. She nodded and the old man helped her to her feet.

"What was that?" Dane asked. Jolee didn't need clarification; he knew exactly what she meant.

"I don't know but I don't want to stick around to meet it. Onasi is just there, I can see him," Jolee said with a nod of his head to her right and back, toward the docking bay. "The damned Sith have stopped the attack long enough to welcome the new arrival. I say we use that time to get hell out of here."

They found Admiral Onasi behind a broken slab of Jedi Temple, barking into a comlink tucked in his sleeve. Dane saw the relief in his eyes as her group approached, though he looked behind her, searching the smoke and dark.

"Thank the Force, we have to get you all out of here," he said quickly. "The Sith have stopped for whatever reason but it can't be good. . My regiments are on the way but they won't arrive soon enough."

"The other Jedi?" Dane asked wearily.

Carth shook his head. "You four are it. Get to the _Hawk. _I'll wait two minutes for Bastila and then take you off-planet."

"I'm here," came a voice, and then Bastila and Lanik Thrakill appeared out of the gloom. Dane thought Bastila looked weary and shaken. Lanik appeared alert and tense, but otherwise unharmed. No blood stained his robes and he did not carry the exhaustion of battle on him as everyone else did.

Carth smiled briefly. "All right, let's go," he ordered but Bastila did not move.

"Where are the others?" she asked.

"There are no others," Jolee said with unusual quiet. "Come on, we'll go to Dantooine…try again."

Bastila, her face growing paler still, nodded and then turned up the street toward the docking bay where the _Ebon Hawk _sat.

Dane turned to go too when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of orange light. She stopped and peered into the haze…and saw it again. Her heart began to pound and her stomach did a slow roll for there was no mistaking Atton's double-bladed, orange-shafted lightsaber.

"Oh, gods," she breathed and began hurrying, in a limping run, toward that orange light that was surrounded by a sea of black-clad shapes.

"Dane, no!" she heard Bastila cry and then strong arms—Carth's—grabbed hold of her shoulders.

"Let me go!" Dane seethed, struggling weakly.

"Dane, you can't go in there. Something is coming…"

And as if to illustrate his words, Dane felt that awful wave of dark energy again.

From her vantage, fifty meters or more away, the first thing she could make out was three glowing red lightsabers. They were perfectly spaced apart, held at exactly the same angle, and advanced down the street at an exact, precise speed…straight toward the orange glow of Atton's blades.

Dane, with a strength borne of desperation, freed herself from Carth's grip. She turned to face them, Carth, Jolee, Mical and Bastila, all of whom looked ready to stop her and drag her away from him.

"Stop," she said in her most commanding tone. They all four froze, watching her with pitying expressions on their faces. "I go to help Atton. If the Sith Lord that is here comes before I do, then take the _Hawk_ and leave but do not try to stop me."

"Help who?" Carth asked, confused. He shook his head and made to speak, to give another command, but Dane was already gone, dashing into street, straight toward the Sith Lord.

"No!" Bastila screamed and tried to follow after the Exile, but Lanik and Carth both stopped her.

"She's made her choice!" Carth shouted. "Lanik…?"

The younger man, looking as though he had a thousand thoughts behind his eyes, took hold of Bastila and pulled her gently but firmly toward the ship that was a good fifty meters away.

"She's dead already," he told her, and Carth frowned at Lanik's choice of words. But it seemed to work for Bastila ceased her struggle. She moved away from Lanik's touch and headed toward the ship. The others followed, hurrying as fast as their exhausted bodies would allow, but for Mical who hesitated. The young man was bloody and filthy and his arm was badly wounded, but he looked as though he were gathering the strength—and courage—to go in after the Exile.

Carth grabbed the young man by the shoulder. "I don't like it either, but there will be no Jedi left if we don't move," he told him. "You get me?"

Mical nodded wordlessly and followed Carth to the ship, but the Admiral saw it was exhaustion more than his words that prompted the Padawan's agreement.

They boarded the little freighter and Carth hurried to the cockpit while the others tended to Juhani. Sitting in the pilot's seat of the _Ebon Hawk_ brought a flood of memories, most of which were of Revan, but there was no time to reminisce. He went to start up the ship's systems, to fly the only Jedi left in the galaxy to safety, and realized with a pang of dread, that the _Ebon Hawk _had been voice-locked.

"What's the hold up?" Jolee said, peeking his head into the cockpit and watching Carth struggle with the console before finally slamming his fist on it. "What did you do? Lose the key?"

Carth looked at him. "We're not going anywhere."

* * *

Lanik watched from the corner of the freighter's main hold as a hurried and frantic conference occurred between the Jedi. The ship's systems had been voice-locked, apparently, and it was decided that they needed to try to retrieve the Exile after all. It was reasoned that she had either done it herself or knew who did, and so the old man—obviously gladdened for the chance to save her—and the Admiral raced back out into the street and toward the Sith. 

_What to do, what to do? _ Lanik mused. Bastila and the Cathar would be easy prey, even without the nuisance of the Wookiee and the Padawan, so the dark Jedi's hand strayed to his lightsaber. The women and the Padawan were in the port dormitory, the two worrying over the other while the Wookiee stood guard. _Easy prey, _he thought again and slipped silently into the hallway that led to the dorm, like a dark shadow holding a shaft of killing light.

* * *

Dane hurried as fast as her injured leg would allow—it felt as though someone had lodged a half-dozen molten blaster bolts behind her knee. But her cognizance of the pain fled with every shambling step that brought her closer to Atton. The arcs of his orange lightsaber had ceased but she could see it still, lying on the ground… 

_Lying on the ground…Why? Because he has fallen? _Icy dread stole her breath but she pressed on, drawing nearer, until she could see him through the smoke and haze and pelting rain.

He was sitting beside his lightsaber, his elbows resting on his drawn-up knees, his head hung between them. All around were strewn the bodies and limbs of Sith. Dane's relief that Atton was alive was tempered by the sight. Though the lightsaber was the preferred—and revered—weapon of the Jedi, its propensity for amputation always disgusted her. She thought how her own wound might have ended with the loss of her leg had the Sith's blade cut only a little deeper.

Shuddering, Dane stepped over a disembodied arm to move closer to Atton. Beside him, HK-47 stood motionless and silent. The droid, struck by one dark Jedi's Force powers, stood slumped over and still, sparks jumping out of his damaged torso. Behind him, the Sith were coming, though yet far off…and the Sith Lord was with them.

"Atton?"

Her voice came out a hoarse croak, hardly above a whisper. He jerked his head up, regarding her with haunted eyes. He furrowed his brows.

"Dane? You're…"

_Still alive. _ Dane felt his thoughts through their bond, weak as it was. Atton slowly got to his feet, gripping his still-ignited lightsaber in his hand. He glanced behind him, through the driving rain, and the oncoming horde and then back to her. Dane saw something akin to hope—but a faltering, desperate hope—burn in his gray-green eyes.

"You have to go," he said with a mounting energy. He hefted his lightsaber and turned to face the approaching Sith, standing between her and them. "Go now," he said, his voice low, "while there's still time. There's still time…"

He repeated those words to himself, and Dane took a faltering step toward him.

"Atton, come with me. Please. Something is coming—"

"Yeah, it is," Atton said, his voice louder. He spun on her, one eye still on the Sith. "That thing is coming. You felt it, right? Now go. Go!"

"I can't leave you…"

Atton whirled on her. His eyes were sharp and hard and devoid of love as they bored into hers and his face was drawn into a horrible grimace of grief and anger.

"Go!" he barked at her, giving her a small shove. "Get out, now! Don't you get it? You're ruining my one shot. You're going to fuck it up and then what will I have left, Dane? This!" He gestured at the carnage around him and the smoldering Jedi Temple looming in the haze. "This mess and your death." Atton shook his head. "No. Give me one thing and go."

"I-I don't understand…" Dane said, and put her hands up weakly as he advanced on her, shoving her again, roughly. Behind him, the Sith were coming.

Atton cursed and suddenly he lunged at her, grabbing her by the collar of her filthy, ash-stained robes. "Don't you see? Right now, I still have a chance. I have something to take with me," he whispered, and then he was showing her through their bond.

Dane recoiled but he held her fast and she saw that he had known that the attack was coming, that the Sith were going to ambush the Jedi. She felt the shame and grief of it in him and she wept at its power. She saw too, and understood, what he was telling her now. _If you get away safe, then I salvage a small piece of redemption. If you die, I have nothing. _

Dane sobbed and he threw her roughly to the ground and turned away, for the Sith were nearly upon them. "Atton…"she cried, and then felt strong hands lift her to her feet. She heard Carth's voice, and Jolee's—gently urging and insistent—but they sounded far away.

Atton slowly turned his back to her.

"Get her out of here," he told them in a dead voice, his lightsaber held in a battle-ready stance. "I'll hold them off while you get to the ship."

"Come with us," Dane heard Jolee say. "Whatever has happened, my boy, there is hope…"

Atton shook his head. "Not this time. Not for me. Now go. Go!" he bellowed.

"No, no don't!" Dane cried as Carth and Jolee moved to obey him, and then the Sith came.

"Atton!" Dane screamed, and she reached for him, her fingertips just barely brushing the shoulder of his ribbed jacket…but Carth pulled her away. She was being lifted and carried and though she struggled, the Force Speed had drained her, and she could nothing but watch as Atton engaged the first lightsaber-wielding dark Jedi.

"_Atton!" _ Dane screamed, a piercing wail of agony. "_Atton, no!"_

He turned his head then, caught her eye and flashed her that crooked grin of his one last time. Then the Sith were all around him and he was lost from sight and Dane screamed and screamed…

Atton was surrounded by dark Jedi—at least thirty of them. Hopeless odds made more hopeless by the sight of the three Sith Lords nearing. Atton hacked and slashed at his opponents, reveling in the knowledge that he would die soon and this whole nightmare would end.

But the Sith did not attack. They stood in a ring around him, parrying easily his attacks but not striking back.

"Come on!" Atton raged at them. "Come on, you bastards!" Hatred and anger so strong it was like bile in his mouth assaulted him. He did not come this close to salvation to have the _Sith _take it away from him. He struck at them, cursed them with the vilest oaths he could devise, screamed at them…but they did nothing.

The Sith Lords—three identical, hooded figures—came upon him, led by a red-haired woman. She stopped when she saw him and an appreciative smile came over her features briefly as she eyed him up and down. "Is this him?" she asked.

Atton, breathing heavily and trying to ignore the cold pang of dread that came over him at the sight of the Sith Lords, watched as a figure stepped out from behind the dark Jedi that surrounded him. Lirik Thrakill, wearing a wide, slithering grin, nodded.

"Yes, that's him. The prodigal son, Jaq Rand."

The woman nodded briefly. "Take him," she said, and then she and the three hooded figures, along with a small contingent of dark Jedi, moved on, toward the _Ebon Hawk. _

Atton tried to stop them; he moved to block their path, his lightsaber striking, but the three Sith Lords stopped and turned their hooded visages to him. Atton felt his mouth go dry and he gripped his weapon in trembling hands…and then there was no weapon to grip. His lightsaber was torn from his hand by and unseen force and it skittered across the rain-soaked ground to roll to a rest at Lirik's feet.

Atton thought that the time had come, that the Sith Lords were going to kill him right then and there with that incredible Force power that made his own seem like a trickle of water in comparison to a raging flood. But they moved on, striding towards the docking bay in a perfect harmony of movement. Atton could only watch them go, awed at the might of them.

Lirik picked up Atton's lightsaber, studying it. "Double-bladed, eh? Interesting choice, Jaq. Says a lot about your…proclivities, don't you think?" He deactivated it before tucking it into his belt and sauntered forward, a very pleased, very smug smile on his features.

"So, Jaq," he drawled, eyeing the Sith corpses that littered the ground. "I see you aren't one hundred percent with us, eh? In need of a few more lessons, I suppose?"

Atton said nothing. He _felt_ nothing, and could not allow himself to feel anything but nothing, or else he thought he might go mad.

"That's all right," Lirik continued as though Atton had apologized. "We'll get you straightened out. Darth Tertius is going to kill your friends and then you'll be free! No more entanglements, no more dead weights to bring you down. You'll be able to pick up where you left off, Jaq, although—" Lirik sniggered—"there won't be any Jedi left for you to assassinate. Well, just one," he amended, "but we're handling her." Lirik's grin spread. "But, there are plenty of other rewarding and fulfilling career opportunities with the Sith just waiting to be explored, Jaq."

Atton remained silent and then the sounds of fighters roared overhead. Republic fighters, cruising low over the scene.

"Uh oh," Lirik muttered. "Time to go. Come, Jaq. Let us make our escape. Darth Tertius and Jude—" he said the name with obvious disgust—"will join us shortly."

The ring of Sith closed in on Atton and he had no choice but to walk. He did so automatically, unthinking, stepping over the arms and legs and bodies of those he had killed. He felt cold and numb and the energy for the fight drained out of him.

They marched back toward the Jedi Temple double-time, as the Republic fighters roared overhead again. _Nice timing,_ Atton thought dully as he walked along, behind Lirik and ringed by Sith. The fighters didn't fire at them—likely blinded by the blackened night and the storm. _Too bad, _Atton mused. _Fooled by the dark again…_

Lirik was leading them across the ruined street, toward the Jedi Temple. They came to a place where a large section of the wall had been blasted out and, judging by the corpses of Republic soldiers huddled against it, the debris had been used as a cover. Atton clenched his jaw at the sight of the bodies, clad in their light-colored uniforms…but for one. One man, not in Sith black and gray, and not clad in Republic issue dress, caught Atton's downcast eye.

Without a second thought—for he wasn't really a prisoner of the Sith, he reasoned, not truly—he broke past the line of dark Jedi that walked with him. He did not see the Sith try to stop him, nor Lirik's silent gesture to let him go. He hurried to the man who lay against a piece of wall on his back, one arm thrown over his chest.

It was Macen Vorn and he was dead.

_No, _Atton amended, kneeling beside the man, _not dead, but may as well be. _

The rain had soaked every particle of clothing Macen wore, but Atton could still see patches of darker blood staining his chest, his arm, the leg of his pants. More blood streaked his face, leaked from his nose and mouth. One hand still gripped a blaster and a vibrosword lay a few paces away, amongst a considerable-size ring of dead Sith.

Atton said nothing. The numbness that was taking root in his gut was spreading and he urged it on to hurry. Macen opened his eyes and peered into the dark.

"Atton," he croaked with surprise, blood flecking his lips as he focused on the pilot kneeling over him. Macen's eyes widened, as though he had just remembered something of great import. "Lirik. It was Lirik who betrayed her…I saw…the records…saw them…"

On cue, Lirik stepped behind Atton and leaned over them. "Well, well, well," the dark Jedi murmured. "Look who's decided to join us…or leave us, as it were." He cackled obscenely at his own joke.

Macen's eyes went back to Atton. "But then I guess you knew..."

Atton clenched his teeth together and he shook his head.

"Jaq," Lirik said in a mock-warning tone, "I'll give you two standard minutes to tell Macen that Dane is dead now—or will be soon—that he is too late, that he is going to die in vain, and all that other melodramatic shit, and then we go. Got it?"

Atton's hands curled into fists but Lirik, snickering to himself, backed off.

"Is she…?"

"No," Atton stated. "She's not." _I can still feel her…_ And as if to prove his point, the sky above them was filled with the unmistakable sound of the _Ebon Hawk_ streaking above them. Atton sighed with profound relief, relief that quickly turned sour as he looked at the dying man before him.

"You…" Atton swallowed the old anger and jealousy that sought to prevent his words. "You helped save her."

Macen nodded, though his expression was dark. A shudder of pain wracked his body and he clenched his jaw until it passed. But for the convulsive pain, Macen didn't move at all, Atton saw, but lay heavy against the stone wall. His breath came in small, hitching gasps that sounded wet with blood. But his eyes were still clear and they caught and held onto Atton as surely as if the man had gripped him by the arm.

"Well, this…this isn't exactly how… I envisioned this," Macen said. He spoke on the currents of those little, gasping breaths, as if he had been running very fast for a long time. "Not…how you'd want it…either, I suppose," he added and one corner of his mouth turned up into a smile for a brief moment, before fading again. "You aren't going…to want…to hear this, Atton…but you're the one who's here. These are my last goddamn dying words so I…have to get them…right."

_Not me, _Atton thought. _Someone better than me should be hearing this…_ But he only nodded.

"Tell Dane I love her," Macen said bluntly, without hesitation, his blue eyes locking on to Atton's. "I know you two are... but I want her to know that she gave me…happiness. She should know that she made me happy. I would want to know the same. Will you tell her?"

"I'm not going to see her again," Atton said in a low voice. "This…" he gestured at the carnage around them and shook his head. "I won't see her again," he repeated.

"Atton," Macen said, "don't… be an asshole. If you broke something… then fix it, but don't let her…don't give her up. How could you?"

Atton had no response. He couldn't tell the dying man that he had broken so much that he saw no possible way to even begin repairing it all. Another shudder convulsed through Macen's body, bringing pain but no release.

"Okay, I'm done now…I'm ready," Macen said after the shudder passed. His eyes bored into Atton's. "You'll help me…?"

Atton's stomach did a slow roll as he realized what the other man was asking. He shook his head.

"No. No, I can't," Atton said.

"You owe it to me. Don't let it be one of them."

"Macen, I _am_ one of them."

"No, you're not. Not yet. You still have time. You can still do the right thing. Do it, Atton," Macen insisted. "It's bad…this pain, and I don't want it anymore."

Atton glanced down at the gaping wound in Macen's gut and blanched. It was the kind of wound that brings death only after hours of agonizing pain—torturing its bearer before allowing release. Atton shook his head and muttered a curse.

Macen's horrible, gasping breaths were getting worse, each one agonized and shallow. "Do it, man," he whispered. "Kill me."

"_I already have,"_ Atton cried through clenched teeth, blinking his eyes hard.

Macen shuddered again, the pain forcing a groan from his broken body. His eyes glittered feverishly and his words became fractured and scattered. "Please…Atton. She was a general, wasn't she? I want to die as soldiers do…don't leave me to them…I was her soldier. Tell her that. Tell her I died as her soldier… "

_Just stop, let him go!_ Atton raged silently at whatever cruel force held on to him. But still, Macen's body would not give up. He had no more strength for words, Atton saw, was not even wholly conscious anymore, for his eyes were unfocused and glassy. Only the shudders of pain held on to him, made him shiver and tremble.

Atton stood up and began to pace, running his hands through his wet hair. _I can't do this, I can't…I can't…can't…no more…_

"Time to go," Lirik said, looming suddenly out of the darkness. There was no trace of humor or joviality in his voice at all. "Finish him, Atton, or I will."

Atton flinched but did not stop his agitated walk. The precipice he had imagined earlier yawned before him now again, and he envisioned himself pacing around it like a trapped animal—not wanting to go forward into the comforting blackness and not able to go back the way he had come. He glanced down at Macen.

_He deserves better, better than me…_

"Enough. I do it myself," Lirik said and took a step forward. He drew his own crimson-bladed lightsaber, but before he could ignite it, Atton reached out his hand and called it to him with the Force. It flew to his hand and the moment it touched his black, fingerless gloves he ignited it, spun around and drove it down…

_There, _Atton thought, _it is over. Isn't it? Please…_He tried to harden his heart against reality—a desperate act to try to preserve his sanity. The tears on his cheeks were not tears but just the rain falling over him. The shaking in his hands was weariness only… and the body of Macen Vorn below him was just another corpse on a battlefield strewn with corpses. _Lies, all lies…_came a snide voice but he blocked it out.

Atton disengaged his lightsaber and tossed it at Lirik who caught it deftly, his shrewd eyes watching the pilot closely.

"Let's go," Atton said and began to walk.

"Yes," Lirik said, a small grin beginning to appear on his lips. He fell into step beside him, "You did that so well, that little killing bit. You're a natural, truly."

"It was what he wanted," Atton said weakly, despising himself for trying to find the smallest measure of blamelessness. _Good one, Jaq, _spoke up the snide voice. _Yes, he asked you to kill him…after the battle you brought on wounded him beyond saving. You're such a saint, such a goddamn _hero_…_ His hands were trembling so badly, he stuffed them into the pockets of his jacket.

The dark Jedi snickered. "Don't beat yourself up, Jaq," he cajoled. "When are you going to give in? From where you're standing, killing that poor bastard was horrible. This whole battle was horrible. But from over here…" Lirik smiled wickedly. "From over here, it is all so very beautiful."

Atton stopped walking then and crouched down, sitting on his haunches, his hands over his face as ragged sobs tore through his body.

"There, there," Lirik soothed, his voice like velvet in the dark. "Yes, get it all out. There's no room for tears on the dark side, my friend."

_The dark side…_Atton tried to block out the dark Jedi's words, even as he blocked out the sights of the corpse-strewn street around him with his hands. But to no avail…there was no escaping the visions in his own mind. Everything was so ugly and violent and stained in blood. He could not look at it anymore like this, but longed to see it as Lirik promised…

Atton turned up his face to Lirik. "Will you…help me?"

Lirik smiled benevolently and drew Atton up to standing. "Of course, I will," he said, patting him on the shoulder.

"After all, what are friends for?"

* * *

Dane cried, thrashed, and kicked in the arms of her captor, all to no avail. The Force Speed and the battle weakened her body to the point of collapse so that her struggles were ineffectual. Carth was strong and he held her tightly to him as they ran. Beside him, Jolee was awkwardly muttering kind words but she could not hear them. 

They reached the _Ebon Hawk _and Dane was dimly aware that a swarm of Republic troops had surrounded the freighter…Carth's regiments had arrived. Over the Admiral's shoulder, she saw the Sith Lord and its own contingent of dark Jedi advancing. Another battle was coming but Dane could think only of Atton.

He wasn't dead, she could feel him through their Force bond. _I still have time!_ She struggled again in Carth's arms but it was no use.

The Admiral set her down outside the _Hawk, _one strong hand keeping a tight hold of her wrist. She heard him bark orders at his men, tell them that he was going to pilot the surviving Jedi away, and that he wanted an escort of fighters to Dantooine. Then he was dragging her forward again.

Inside the _Ebon Hawk_ were a dozen or more Republic troops standing at guarded intervals. Lanik Thrakill stood among them, a fiery look in his eyes akin to hatred. The arrival of herself and Carth seemed to push him over some threshold and he stormed to the starboard dormitory without a word to anyone.

Dane saw all this in flashes bereft of thought or analysis. They were pictures only for her thoughts were solely of Atton and her only goal was to return to him.

Carth dragged her to the cockpit and took hold of her shoulders.

"Dane, listen to me. I'm sorry for this, really. But it's suicide to go out there. The Jedi here need you. There are no others, you get me?"

Dane nodded only because she knew that once she did what this strange man wanted she could leave and go back to Atton.

"Unlock it," he said, and turned her toward the ship's console.

For a brief moment, she was confused at his words, and then she remembered. She sank into the pilot's chair—_Atton's chair! Oh love, I'm coming!_—and her body instantly began to fold. But, with shaking fingers, she punched a few numbers, spoke a few words, and then hauled herself out of the chair with effort.

Carth fairly flew into the seat she had abandoned and immediately started flipping switches and pressing buttons. Dane, fighting a wave of dizziness and nausea, felt the _Ebon Hawk's _engines roar to life.

_Hurry, have to hurry…_

She stumbled out of the cockpit and through the main hold where four Republic soldiers were strapping in and calling warnings to her she did not hear. As she passed the port dormitory, she felt Juhani's pain as the Cathar struggled for her life. _Help her…_ Dane thought blearily, but Atton was out there, alone.

She hurried to the exit ramp of the _Hawk_ and found it raised and closed.

"No," she murmured weakly, and punched the console that activated it. It was locked for takeoff.

"No!" she cried again, louder now, and beat her hands weakly against the door. "No, Atton. Please, I have to go to him. Have to…"

The _Ebon Hawk_ bucked and shifted beneath her and she felt it begin to rise.

"_No!" _she screamed and the movement of the ship brought her to her knees. "I have to get to him, please," she cried to no one and then she knew it was too late. _Oh love, I'm so sorry…so sorry…_

Stumbling, half-blind for the tears that coursed down her cheeks and sick with grief and pain, Dane made her way to the garage. The _Hawk's_ engines were humming louder now, as the ship prepared to make the jump to hyperspace.

Dane all but crawled into the garage and crouched on the ground, the loss of Atton tearing ragged sobs from her.

"Oh gods," she moaned and doubled over as though she had been stuck in the stomach, the grief twisting her insides until she could hardly breathe.

"_General,"_ came Bao-Dur's gentle voice, though it was full of alarm. "_General, I'm here…"_

Dane heard his voice, felt his presence, and stretched her hand out to touch him, to make contact…

But there was nothing there.

* * *

Thwarted twice in one day, Lanik Thrakill lashed out at the small dormitory as the ship he was in hurtled into hyperspace, slicing at the bed posts, the refresher, with his lightsaber. But it was close quarters and his weapon was double-bladed. With a scowl and curse of the vilest proportions, he turned it off before he inadvertently hacked off one of his own limbs and hurled himself onto a now-destroyed cot. 

_Brother…_he sent out along a current of rage.

"_Telos," _came Lirik's brief reply, and it was clear to Lanik that his twin was moving quickly, no doubt hurried by the Republic force that had arrived. "_Telos, brother…"_ Lirik sent one more time and then he was gone.

"Telos," Lanik muttered. The word didn't sound right. It wasn't part of the plan but obviously a back up, a detour, now that things had gone wrong here. If there was one thing Lanik hated, it was when his plans went wrong. A strange, discomfiting feeling settled over him. _It is the feeling of the count's wrath for we have failed…_ And obviously they had. Darth Tertius and Jude had undoubtedly come head to head with Admiral Onasi's troops and while Lanik held no illusions that the Sith Lord could easily wipe out that resistance, he could not hold out against the whole of the fleet. They were on Coruscant, the heart of Republic strength, and it would only be a matter of time before Onasi called down the whole damn army on them. Lanik knew Jude was smart enough to know when to make a hasty retreat.

_Retreat, failure, regroup…_ all words Lanik hated. He threw his arms over his eyes, and tried to let the blackness sooth him and the hum of the ship's engines lull him. _I have to get this heap to Telos, eh? _He snorted to cover the small flicker of panic that was starting to ruffle his calm demeanor. He saw no clear way on how to accomplish that in the slightest. _This ship is full of Jedi and Republic soldiers. How can I…?_

And then he knew.

_One dark Jedi against everyone on board is not enough, but two dark Jedi…_

"Bastila," Lanik murmured.

The panicked thought subsided, and he smiled wickedly in the dark.

* * *

**NOTES:**

(pokes everyone who's fallen asleep) I know, I know…long. Long and angsty! But we're coming to the end and I can't help myself. Notes to reviewers are on the homepage. Thank you all! Your support is what keeps me going. Oh, and I got anxious and posted this before my dear beta-reader **Miss Becky** could send it back to me so any and all errors are all mine. Thanks again!


	36. Aftermath

**Chapter 36**

**Aftermath**

Engines hummed and there was the tilting, off-centering feel of a ship gently lifting off the ground. Thrusters kicked and the ship shot forward, up and out of the atmosphere, out into the unimaginable vastness of space. Other parts of the engines were brought to life, a tunnel was revealed, a route taken and then that eternal distance became a manageable one. Soon, another planet would come into view. Another landing made. Another set of minutes, hours…perhaps days, to wait.

"Not this time," said One.

"_An interesting turn of events,_" mused Two.

"**They should all perish for their failure,**" seethed Three.

"Agreed. Too long have we been the puppet."

"_Ahh, but that is only the ruse…Our time will come._"

"**It comes now. We will wait no longer.**"

"A little more. The woman will bring the Jedi to us."

"_Yes, I know her plan even before she does. It will work."_

"**And then they all die…"**

"The twin…"

"_The woman…"_

"**And every last Jedi..."**

"Indeed, we have played the puppet long enough."

Darth Tertius sat in the rear of the merchant freighter the _Fast Lady_ as it screamed through space toward Telos. No one, not even the most veteran of Sith troops who shared space in the ship dared go near the aft section. Dark side energy crackled in pools of green, broken light, and crawled up the sides of the fuselage like pulsing vines before giving way to an unnatural blackness. It was as if even the meager lights of the ship's interior refused to venture near the Sith Lord. He was a sieve, an embodiment of concentrated dark side power; a black hole where all good and bright things died. Nothing could be seen in that blackness and no words were heard. The Dark Lord of the Sith did not speak aloud but with an overlapping of thought that was so exquisitely molded and intertwined, its perfection of cohesion could not be described. No one heard Darth Tertius' murderous plan and no one saw him nod his heads with identical movements. Though pleased with his plan, no smiles appeared on any of the three faces.

And none ever would.

* * *

Mission awoke with a severe crick in her neck from having pillowed her head on Dustil's shoulder all night. She had fallen asleep to the distant sounds of the battle being fought without her and her dreams had been bad ones. 

Now, she lifted her head, wincing at the pain, and blinked her eyes in the early morning light. Her dreams, images of Dustil valiantly fighting—and losing to—a Jedi Master with a blurred face, obscured her thoughts for moment. She shook her head and looked at Dustil sleeping beside her…and remembered that it was no dream.

_Lanik!_

Mission, her heart pounding in her chest, kissed Dustil's sleeping face quickly and then scrambled off the bed. She headed for the door, ready to bite and claw and tear her way passed anyone who tried to stop her, when it suddenly slid open and five Republic guards stormed in. Mission gave a little shriek and backed up to Dustil's bed protectively.

The first man in the room scanned the scene and then nodded once, gruffly. "Sorry, ma'am," he said. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"What…what's happening?" Mission asked, her voice sounding small in her ears in comparison to the hulking presence of the uniformed men. The guards had frightened her nearly to death but the fact that they were Republic and not Sith had to be a good sign. "Did we win?" she asked.

"Affirmative," the guard replied. "We're just patrolling for stragglers…making sure the Admiral's son is safe." His eyes took in the room, while the others inspected the room, peering in plasteel containers and peeking into closets as if the Sith were playing at hide and seek.

Mission rolled her eyes and drew herself up to her full height—which wasn't much—and put her hands on her hips. "He's fine and he's sleeping," she seethed, indicating Dustil's quiet form. "Now you are going to get out of here before you wake him up and I am going to leave this room and get to a commcenter and you aren't going to stop me."

The guard smirked, amused, though he waved his men out of the room. "All clear," he spoke into a comlink at his collar. He eyed Mission. "No one's keeping you here, miss. You're free to go."

"Oh," Mission said, letting her arms drop. "Well, all right then," she muttered as the guard departed.

"Mission?"

She turned around to see Dustil awake, his eyes blindly seeking her in the dark. She rushed to him and took his hand in hers.

"I've got to go warn Carth and the others," she said quickly. "They wouldn't let me out last night."

Dustil nodded, his expression grim. "I wish I could go with you," he said.

"Soon," the Twi'lek replied. She pecked him on the cheek and raced to the door. His voice halted her as she activated it.

"That was terrible," he said.

"What?"

"That kiss. It was terrible."

"Dustil, now is not the time—"

"Mission," Dustil said with mock-seriousness, "there's _always_ time."

Mission rolled her eyes and raced back to the bed. _I'll show him, _she thought and proceeded to lay the deepest, most thorough, most complete kiss of her life on him. When she pulled away, he was speechless and a silly grin touched his lips. She nodded in satisfaction.

"That should hold you until I get back," she stated and rushed for the door.

Dustil waited until she had left and then the smile slid from his face and he stared into the blackness, willing it to lift. Helpless and vulnerable were not adjectives that were often, if ever, used in connection with the young Jedi Knight. But that's exactly what he felt and suddenly a new and surprising emotion came over him. It was one that he hadn't felt in years—hadn't _allowed_ himself to feel in years.

"Father," he whispered into the empty room, made emptier by the cloak of darkness that blinded him.

* * *

The dawn that fell over Coruscant was gray and bleak. As the sun rose, watery shafts of light broke through the dissipating storm clouds, illuminating the grisly scene. 

Half of the Jedi Temple was rubble. The half that remained standing—two towers and part of the main building—was scorched and blackened. The street in front of the Temple was littered with debris and bodies. Most Sith and Republic…and a handful of Jedi. The last of the Jedi. Living Republic soldiers swarmed over the street, clearing away the corpses and the wreckage while others lined the perimeters, keeping the city's curious away from the scene.

Deke Targan sat on a slab of fallen Temple, pressing a kolto patch to his sooty and bleeding forehead. He watched his comrades go about their business in their efficient silence, his light blue eyes taking it all in blankly. He felt numb. Too exhausted to speak, the cacophony of night's battle deafening his hearing and the shock of the assault deadening any pain, it was his sight that was the only sense still fully available to him.

And so Deke merely sat and watched as Republic soldiers piled the Sith dead unceremoniously on one end of the street, and their own they reverently laid out on the other. In between them walked a slender figure in deep maroon and gray.

Deke's eyes followed the figure—obviously a woman by her carriage—with a detached curiosity. She was slender and small, but walked with a kind of regal bearing that made her seem taller than she was. Her robes trailed in the dirt and ash and blood but she paid it no mind. Instead, her attention was on the Temple, on the dead, on the injured that still lay where they had fallen until the med droids could attend to them. Curious, Deke thought dully, how the woman seemed to be assessing the entire scene, taking it all in, even with a gold-trimmed hood covering her eyes. He watched as a Republic officer approached and questioned her. The woman turned to the officer to reply and that's when Deke saw the lightsaber tucked into a belt around her slender waist. _Jedi,_ he thought, and as if he had said it aloud, or called out to her, the woman turned her hooded visage towards him.

The Republic officer pointed to Deke as if to confirm their connection and then she was striding to him.

Deke watched without emotion as the Jedi woman approached, but as she neared, some of the strain of battle left his nerves and muscles. He felt as though some coiled thing inside him, a knot of pain and fear, had loosened and he sighed. Sound and feeling came back to his numbed senses and he smiled wanly at the woman. She said nothing, but laid her small hands on his arm and then Deke felt a warm surge of gentle energy course through him. His pain lessened and his smile widened.

"My thanks," he said.

The woman nodded her hooded head and said in a breathy, low voice, "Where are the other Jedi?"

Deke, his smile slipping, nearly inclined his head to the left where shroud-covered bodies were lined on the street. The Jedi who had occupied the Temple were laid there, but suddenly the young man knew it was not for them she asked after. He opened his mouth to speak but shut it again, eyeing her suspiciously. True, she was a Jedi and had healed him, but her wine-colored robes and hooded face could have cast her easily as a Sith. His hand strayed to the blaster at his hip.

"Be easy, soldier," the woman said with that throaty voice of hers. "I am no enemy, but a friend of the Exile Jedi, Dane Koren. My name is Visas Marr." Her full, red lips spread into a gentle smile. "I am a friend," she repeated.

Deke relaxed and let his hand fall. He felt her sincerity, a sereneness that could not possibly conceal ulterior motives or ill intent. "I have not heard mention of your name, Jedi Marr, but the Exile has been here. She is now on Dantooine with Admiral Onasi. Only last night they fled—"

"Are you certain of this?"

The Jedi woman did not raise her voice but her words had stopped his own instantly.

"Uh, yes," Deke said. "Yes, the Admiral has three ships escorting him and the surviving Jedi to Dantooine. Word came last night after…" Deke shook his head, remembering. He had been lying against a slab of rock—likely the very one he sat upon now—injured and bloody, unable to move. Hours had passed and the sounds of battle around him faded to be replaced by the searing sound of Galactic Republic ships cutting through the air. He heard voices then, some giving orders and others obeying them and then he knew he was safe. Word came that Admiral Onasi had taken the surviving Jedi Masters to Dantooine with an escort of fighters for protection. The Sith had fled at that time too, but not to pursue, apparently. They had simply disappeared.

Deke told all of this to Visas Marr. The woman's face was inscrutable as she took it all in.

"I am too late," she murmured, almost to herself. She turned her sightless gaze on Deke. "I suspect they will return soon."

Deke nodded. "Yes, after the Jedi have a chance to meet, I suppose. I'm sorry, ma'am, but I know little about the Council…"

"There will be no Council meeting," Visas stated, her voice tinged with melancholy. "They will return for it is not safe out there—" she waved a delicate hand in the air—"and there is unfinished business here."

"What's that?" Deke asked, feeling as he always did, that Jedi mysticism was over his head and that he much preferred the solid reality of soldier life.

Visas only reply was to smile gently at him. "They will return, as will your Admiral."

Deke returned the smile, despite his weariness. His concern for his superior officer was always at the forefront of his mind. Being stuck on Coruscant while Admiral Onasi was on Dantooine, Deke felt as though he was being foresworn of his duties. The Lieutenant made to reply, to thank the Jedi woman for the indescribable peace she brought to him, when a streak of blue lanced down the street before him.

He recognized the Twi'lek as the one that had taken to the Admiral's son, though he couldn't remember her name. As soon as their eyes met she recognized him too, and she changed her course so that she raced straight to him.

"Dirk!" she cried, out of breath and panting. She spared Visas a quick, suspicious glance before latching on to the young man's arm. "Dirk, what happened? Oh gods, where is everyone?"

"It's Deke," the Lieutenant corrected and then explained what happened as best he knew it.

Mission bit her lip. "They've all gone to Dantooine? All of them?"

"Yes," Deke said. "The Admiral and all the Jedi Masters, from the reports I've heard."

Mission's blue face paled. "Lanik too?" she croaked.

Deke shrugged. "I would assume so. What is it?"

"They're all in big trouble. _Big _trouble. Get me to a commcenter!"

Deke jumped to his feet. "Wait, in trouble how? What do you mean?"

The Twi'lek shook her head. "There's no time to explain. I gotta contact the _Ebon Hawk_!"

Deke nodded and glanced around frantically. After everything that had happened, he was more than a little disoriented. It was the Jedi woman who calmed him again, her voice soothing as she said, "The docking bay. There are ships there from which we can contact the _Hawk._"

The Twi'lek bobbed her head, took three steps in that direction—Deke on her heels—and then stopped. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"A friend of Dane Koren's. I am Visas Marr."

"Mission Vao," replied the Twi'lek. She eyed the Jedi woman up and down and then shrugged. "Okay. Well, come on if you're coming."

But the Twi'lek froze. Deke followed her line of sight to two Republic soldiers hauling a body between them.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no," Mission murmured and then dashed toward them. "No! Stop, he's…he was one of us!" she cried at the soldiers who were preparing to lay the body among the Sith. Mission stepped forward and peered down at the dead man's face. "Oh no, Dane. I'm so sorry."

Deke watched as tears rolled down the Twi'lek's face before she impatiently rubbed them away.

"He is not a Sith!" she insisted. "He was a friend. Don't you dump him with those…those horrible men!"

The soldiers looked to Deke and he nodded his head. They shrugged and started down toward the other end of the street.

"I am sorry for your loss," Visas murmured.

Mission wiped her eyes. "Not mine," she said only, and then slumped again. "HK…"she murmured, her gaze turned to a rusted red droid standing still and quiet amidst a ring of dead Sith.

Deke followed Mission to the droid, Visas Marr following silently behind. The Twi'lek regarded it with fresh tears in her eyes.

"Can we fix him?" she asked Deke.

The lieutenant frowned. "That's a hunter-killer unit. Why—?"

"I know," Mission replied, and sniffed. "I don't like him either, but he's a part of our group and I just can't lose anyone else, you know? Not even HK."

Deke didn't quite understand the girl's meaning but he signaled a passing soldier over. "See to it that this droid is repaired," he ordered.

"Yes, sir," replied the officer, and began barking orders to other soldiers.

Mission nodded once, satisfied, and the three continued on down the street toward the docking bay.

Deke's authority gained them entrance into one of the Republic fleet and the Twi'lek went instantly to the commcenter. Deke listened with growing alarm as the Twi'lek made contact with one of the Jedi on the _Hawk_—Bastila, he thought. Visas Marr, standing beside him, seemed paler but not entirely surprised as they listened to the transmission.

"They have been betrayed," she murmured. "It was as I sensed…it was why I came. A disturbance in the Force…"

Deke could only nod and stand helpless and shamed at his own ignorance as the Twi'lek shouted into the comlink the name of the kind and thoughtful Jedi Master that had been among them for months and months…

"Lanik!" Mission cried. "It's Lanik Thrakill!"

* * *

**Telos, Secret Academy, Polar Regions**

Lirik Thrakill held his breath as he and Jude Gracus, both sitting in the cockpit of the merchant freighter, the _Fast Lady_, waited for the comm to come back from the TSF facility.

"We don't have a valid I.D.," Lirik muttered. "At best they're going to deny us landing. At worst…"

"They haven't the resources or inclination to stop us," Jude replied with a cool smile. "Hundreds of merchant freighters come and go every week. What's three more?"

Lirik bit his lip but didn't reply. The mission was already on the verge of utter failure in his opinion; being prevented landing on Telos would only be one more setback in a series of setbacks.

On Coruscant, Jude had returned to their own ships with Darth Tertius and the fifty or so Sith that remained from the one hundred and twenty she had absconded with from the count. _And Lanik trapped on the Exile's ship, and the Exile making an escape, and no dead Jedi Masters…_ Lirik had tabulated the score in his mind, his fear of the count's wrath coloring each and every failure. But Jude had seemed unperturbed.

They had boarded the _Fast Lady_ and two other freighters and shot into hyperspace, bound for Telos and the Academy there. Jude said it was because the Academy was a stronghold of dark side power that would provide a suitable base from which to regroup and plan their next attack. Lirik thought it a remote and desperate hole to hide in that just so happened to have—according to Lanik—a store of Sith holocrons. _For all we know, the Restoration Project has discovered it, cleaned it out, and is using it for fertilizer storage. _But he hadn't spoken his thoughts aloud. Then, like now, he had too many other, larger worries on his mind. _Like keeping my skin attached to my body once the count gets wind of this little change in plans._

"_Fast Lady, _uh, you're clear for landing, sector seven-G," came the reply from the TSF station—slightly hesitant but weary too.

Jude flashed Lirik a triumphant smile. "Copy that," she returned and guided her freighter past the enormous, floating station that looked, from space, like a giant bandage over the wounded planet.

Jude, of course, did not land the ship in that designated sector but cruised past the Citadel Station and headed toward the polar regions. There was another tense moment when Lirik feared their detour would be noticed, but no angry communication sounded and he was forced to suffer another of Jude's smug smiles.

Fortune seemed to smile at Jude as well, for she spotted the entrance to the hidden Academy in the great expanse of white with little trouble.

"The dark energies in there called to me," she purred to Lirik who rolled his eyes but said nothing.

They landed their freighters and Jude ordered the Sith soldiers inside to assess any potential threat. Lirik waited, his breath pluming in front of him and his shoulders hunched against the cold, for the contingent to return, and was hardly surprised when their report was exactly as what Jude could have hoped for. The base was empty—deserted—and apparently untouched by TSF hands. The reporting officer also told them a large chamber at the rear of the compound contained a large number of Sith holocrons, undamaged.

Lirik rolled his eyes again as Jude nodded, pleased. She and Lirik then inspected the Academy themselves and the dark Jedi had to admit it was ideal for their needs.

To the right of the docking bay, short corridors wound to a prison complete with Force cages.

"You can put that tall, gorgeous specimen of yours here to complete his turning," Jude said with a lascivious gleam in her eye as they toured the cold, dim Academy.

Lirik snorted. "Say, you ever met my brother? Lanik? Remember him?" he asked, pointing at his own face.

Jude made a dismissive noise. "He and I have an understanding."

Lirik scowled. _Damn her. _Jaq was _his _toy and the last thing he wanted was Jude interrupting his lessons to appease her insatiable appetite.

They moved through the Academy, its silvery corridors dark and cold. Jude ordered the Sith to activate all systems and Lirik marveled as lights and consoles came to life for her. By the time they reached the end of the compound, Lirik was forced to admit that Jude was right—the secret Academy was an ideal stronghold from which to regroup and plot their next course of action. The chamber at the end was a large, circular room, and bare except for the Sith holocrons that lined the walls like blood-red crystals.

Jude turned to Lirik. "I think Darth Tertius will be more than comfortable here."

A sharp comment came to mind, but Lirik kept his mouth shut, remembering the sting of Jude's slap should he insult Darth Tertius again. He could only nod and then he and the woman walked back to the ships to escort their charges into the Academy.

As they neared the docked ships, his fears and worry over their failures on Coruscant began to fade with the anticipation of continuing his lessons with Atton Rand. While Jude saw to it that Darth Tertius was comfortable, Lirik would be completing the task be had begun on Manaan.

_Jaq, Jaq, Jaq,_ he mused, rubbing his hands together—partly from the cold, and partly with excitement. _I will bring you full-circle, Jaq. From Jedi assassin, to Jedi, to dark Jedi, for the last must have been your destiny all along…_

Lirik found Atton pliable enough. The man walked silently and without protest from the ship to the Academy's prison. He allowed himself to be locked into one of the Force cages and his expression was one of resignation and determination. Atton seemed to know what was coming and he faced it without one word of objection. Lirik couldn't help but feel the tiniest bit disappointed that there would be no begging for mercy, no prostration at his feet for release.

_Of course, if I do the pain well enough, perhaps there will be begging after all. _The thought mollified Lirik and he inspected Atton through the energy barrier.

"Are you ready to resume our lessons, Jaq?"

Atton said nothing.

"Do you know what you can expect? I'd hate for you to be taken terribly off guard."

"You want me to be afraid of what's coming, you mean," Atton muttered. "I've seen this before," he said, his voice growing low.

Lirik's smile widened. "Yes, I'll bet you have, Jaq. I'll bet you've seen it many times, and even better…I'll bet you were the one who delivered the student to the teacher. Am I right?"

Atton's expression darkened. "Just get on with it," he growled.

Lirik laughed. "Very well, Jaq. I promised you would see things as I do…but not without first giving me buckets of blood, sweat and tears. Isn't that how the saying goes?" Lirik's smile turned cold and oily. "Appropriate in this case, Jaq, for by the time I am through with you, you will have shed all three in copious amounts."

Lirik disliked using the Force shock through energy fields. The blue lightning penetrated the field easily enough but Lirik felt it kept he and his victim at such a distance. He liked to experience the results of his torture immediate and up close. His solution, then, was to Force Shock his prey until they were wholly incapacitated by pain, at which time the field could be deactivated and the torture resumed in a more 'face to face' manner. It was no different with Atton.

Lirik sent current after current of dark energy blasting from his slender fingertips and into the pilot's body. Atton was stronger than most, Lirik thought, for he remained standing for three full standard minutes. But before long, he succumbed like the rest, and was reduced to curling into a fetal position on the floor of the Force cage, drooling and gasping for air.

"Open it," Lirik ordered one of the ten Sith that lined the small room for his protection. Jude Gracus sauntered in as Lirik wiped his brow with the sleeve of his dark Jedi robes—he having discarded his stolen robes of brown and tan as soon as he stepped foot on Telos.

Lirik gave Jude a dark look. "I would tell you to try not to soil yourself, Jaq, in the presence of a lady," he commented to the shuddering figure on the floor, "but I see none here, so by all means…"

"Silence, worm," Jude said absently. She knelt beside Atton and cocked her head to the side, studying him. "You're using Darth Tyrantt's methods?"

"Of course," Lirik replied. "Or, I _would _be if only you would stand out of my way and leave Jaq and myself in peace."

"In peace," Jude snorted. She brushed a lock of hair off of Atton's sweat-dampened forehead and then stood up, smiling appreciatively. "Just hurry up, then," she said to Lirik. "I am eager to see what kind of Sith you make of him."

"Fuck you…both…"Atton gasped from the ground and struggled to get to his feet.

Lirik and Jude exchanged glances. "Fear?" Lirik asked with a shrug.

Jude nodded. "I think so."

Atton's screams filled the small chamber and Jude closed her eyes as though she were listening to a symphony orchestra's lilting tones. Lirik channeled the Terror into Atton with ease, for it was far less tiring than the Force Shock. Atton clutched his head and scratched at his face as though trying to scrape from his eyes the horrors we was witnessing.

Lirik stopped to admire his work and to catch his own breath for the amount of energy he was expending was beginning to drain him.

Jude was leaning against one wall of the room, smoking a cigarra, and watching the scene through narrowed eyes. Lirik took his turn kneeling beside Atton, whose tears mixed with the blood that streamed down his face from the rents he'd left in his cheeks.

"I'll bet that smarts, Jaq," Lirik commented. "Rubbing salt in the wound, so to speak. Well," he added, slapping his hands on his knees, "there are the three ingredients I was looking for. But tell me, Jaq, are we there yet? Do you feel the beauty and ultimate power of the dark side? Have I cleansed you of the grief and pointless, debilitating shame that you carry? Hmm? Come on, you can tell your good friend Lirik."

Atton, breathing heavily, opened his eyes. He regarded Lirik for a moment, mustered some strength and then spat in the dark Jedi's face.

Lirik recoiled, disgusted. Jude snickered in the corner, which only enraged him further. "I suppose that's a 'no'," he snarled. He wiped the blood-tinged spittle from his brow with the sleeve of his robe and rose to his feet.

"That's well enough, Jaq," he said, his customary jovial tone turned dark and sinister. "Obviously, you need a little more work."

Lirik summoned a black pool of dark energy and raised his hands to drown Atton in it, when pain lanced through his stomach, white and hot. He gasped and fell to one knee, the agony tearing through him and stealing his breath.

But the pain paled in comparison to the fear that coursed through Lirik and made him shudder with its ferocity.

_Lanik? _he sent, his heart thundering in his chest. _Lanik? LANIK!_

And the reply, angry and full of pain…

"_Brother…help me…"_

* * *

**Dantooine, Enclave Ruins**

_"I want to rest before we enter the ruins," Dane said, trudging up a small hillock. The sun was setting, casting an orange and violet glow over the swaying grasses. It felt so peaceful, with the sun's warmth touching her face and the only sounds the wind rustling over the fields. She wanted to taste some of that peace before entering the Enclave in which she knew there would be more fighting, more bloodshed. The scavengers spoke of laigreks, horrible beasts that had infested the Jedi Enclave and had made it difficult for them to pick it clean. Dane had no sympathy for them, and little more for their missing leader, but the thought of the Jedi structure fallen to such ruin…Dane sighed. She knew that she would rid the place of every last beast even as she searched for Master Vrook. _

But first to rest,_ she thought. _

_Atton, who was scowling, said nothing to her comment but followed her up the hill. Mira nudged Visas and gave her a knowing look and a smirk. Visas, with a small smile on her lips, drew Mira away, leaving the two of them alone. _

_"What's troubling you?" Dane asked him as she sat on the soft grass and drew her knees up to her chin. He didn't sit, but stood a few paces away, agitated and silent. "Come sit with me," Dane said when he didn't reply._

_Atton looked back over his shoulder. Affecting nonchalance, he shrugged and dropped to the ground beside her to stretch out his long legs in front of him. He was very near to her; close enough that if she put her hand to her side, she might brush his thigh. Atton chewed a long piece of grass and leaned back on his elbows. He was stretched out and she was curled, resting her cheek on her knees. _

_"It is beautiful here," she said, turning her eyes to the horizon. _

_Atton snorted. "Yeah, it's beautiful all right. Mercs on one side and scavengers on the other…trying to sell you phony relics."_

_Dane hid a smile. "I didn't buy that holocron from Ralon," she reminded him._

_Atton snorted again. "Yeah, but that wasn't all he was selling."_

_"Oh?"_

_Her pilot chewed the blade of grass. "You're just lucky I was there to remind him to keep his filthy hands to himself."_

_Dane was inclined to laugh at his blustering but she found a rosy blush creeping up her cheeks instead. She quickly turned her head away, back to the horizon. _

_"Thank you, Atton," she murmured._

_"Don't mention it," he replied, and they sat for long minutes in comfortable silence as the shadows grew long over the grasses. _

Dane felt a gentle hand on her shoulder that jarred her from her thoughts. She looked around blankly to see Carth Onasi beside her and she was pulled to present time. The ruinous Jedi Enclave was behind her as it had been that long ago day, and she was standing much the same spot where she and Atton had sat and watched the sunset. But there was no Atton now. Several Republic troops wandered here and there, alert and armed as they circled their Admiral, while Jolee and Mical were deep in conversation off to her right.

"The Administrator says you can stay as long as you want," Carth said. "The Enclave is not one hundred percent by any stretch, but as long as it doesn't rain, it should work for the Council—"

"There will be no Council convening here," Dane murmured, her eyes on the horizon where the early morning sun was well over the hillocks and casting an amber hue over the fields. "Or if there is, I will not be a part of it."

"Dane—"

"You are going back to Coruscant, yes?"

"Yeah. I have to get back to Dustil."

"And I am going with you." It was a statement that left little room for argument. "He's not dead, Carth," Dane whispered, answering the Admiral's unspoken doubt. "I can still feel him. Only so faint. But he's still alive. That's why I have to go back."

Carth regarded her with his Admiral's eyes, the eyes of an officer regarding his soldier. Dane recognized it for what it was; she had used it before on her own soldiers during the war. "I know you think I am shirking my duties here for him, but that is not so," she said. "I don't know what Bastila plans to do, but I suspect she feels the same as I, that the Jedi are wounded and dispersed, and it would not be proper to hold a Council here. It would not be complete."

"I don't get it," Carth said. "Far be it for me to presume what's going on in the mind of a Jedi, but isn't that what we came out here for? For the Jedi to rebuild…?"

"Rebuild?" Dane shook her head. "The Temple is in ruins, Juhani recovering slowly, Dustil blind and so far away…"

"Dustil? He's no master."

Dane looked at Carth. "No, but he is Jedi. Not a master—yet—but one who is strong in the Force. He is our future, just as Mical is. This Council is not whole without him and with me, it is not…" Dane let her words trail away and cast her gaze back to the horizon.

Carth frowned. "To be honest, I thought you were going to lead the Council, that Bastila was going to defer to you. She seems so…distracted lately."

"Yes, with Lanik, I suppose. I cannot see her future, or know her thoughts on the Code…But I leave it in her hands. I am an exile, Carth. I don't know that I belong on any Jedi council," Dane said, meeting his gaze. "I am strong in the Force, that is true, perhaps stronger than I have ever been, but I would trade it all in second to be with Atton. I've realized this, over the journey here, what I would and would not do for him. I am not a proper Jedi," she finished with a rueful smile then shook her head. "Or perhaps I am. Perhaps there will be a new Order born of the old. However, my answers lie with Revan. My true place and station will remain unknown until I speak with her. But first I have to find Atton."

Carth sighed and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "Listen, I'm sorry about…what happened back on Coruscant…with him. I didn't know who he was to you, or else I would have tried harder to get him to come with us."

"He wouldn't have come," Dane said, quickly. "You did what you had to do," she added. "And I am sorry for my hysterics. It is unseemly for a general of the Republic to behave in such a manner."

Carth chuckled dryly and slung his arm over her shoulders. "Maybe, but I know how you feel, sister. Believe me, I do."

Dane regarded him and opened her mouth to say something, something she had wanted to say since she had met him. _Don't make any promises you cannot keep, _warned a voice. _Force knows what will happen and it would be too great a burden to be forsworn to this noble man. _

Dane nodded to herself and said nothing, but leaned close to her friend. Together they watched the sun grow large over the east and Dane savored this tiny moment of peace before the bloodshed she knew was coming, would begin again.

* * *

Bastila Shan shut off the hologram with a shaking hand. Mission was in mid-shriek but the Jedi Master had heard enough.

Slowly, like an old woman, she made her way to one of the chairs in the _Hawk's_ hold, feeling her way around the fixtures and leaning on them for support. She sank into the seat and drew in breath, her first in long moments. Her hands trembled and fluttered in her lap like wounded birds and she clasped them tightly together to still them. A thousand thoughts clamored in her mind, each seeking dominance over the other, but her mind had become a slippery place—and none of the thoughts could find purchase in the torrent of pure, cold shock that coursed through her.

_I may as well be an agent for the dark side, to allow this to happen…to have been so blind. _

Grief and shame turned her blood to ice and then another voice sounded in her mind. It was a voice she had not heard in years, one from her memories that she had buried and forgotten…until it spoke to her in her nightmares. It was the voice of Revan…Dark Lord of the Sith, Revan, speaking to her from the bridge of Revan's ship on that long-ago night when Bastila and the Republic came calling. Darth Revan who, even as her mind relented to the Jedi assault, called to Bastila, offered the young girl a taste of the awesome power she possessed; the power of one who had brought entire systems to their knees… Bastila Shan had blocked out that memory, the one in which the mighty Sith Lord clutched her hand and offered her the only thing she had left…power. Bastila, hardly more than twenty, recoiled, but the seed was planted that day. It was not Malak, foolish and careless Malak, who had turned her so easily. Malak only nurtured what Revan had sown, as he always had.

_Not blind, _said Darth Revan's voice now. _You knew what was happening. You knew what he was…and you wanted him anyway. _

Bastila shook her head. "No," she breathed, and then a shadow fell over her where she sat.

"Get some bad news, did you?"

Lanik Thrakill was standing over her, peering down at her, his face an inscrutable mask. With one hand he touched cold fingers to her cheek. She couldn't see his other hand, his left, but she heard the 'click' and then saw the crimson blade of his lightsaber appear at his side.

Bastila's heart shuddered to a stop before thundering against her chest in fear. The hand touching her cheek slipped down to the collar of her robes and she was hauled to her feet. Her body felt limp with shock and she offered no resistance as Lanik pressed her roughly against one wall of the hold.

"It will be up to you how this is going to go," Lanik said, his hand now around her throat, squeezing. "I had planned, all along, to kill you. I dreamt of it, plotted it…_fantasized _about it in my bed before you came so willingly to it. But I sense a darkness in you, sweeting. First on the street of Coruscant and again, just now, as you learned who I am. I sense your desire. Now tell me, Bastila," Lanik whispered, bringing the blade of his lightsaber close to her face, "do I get to live out my fantasies, or do you give in to that desire…_again._"

Bastila closed her eyes against the awful sight of his beautiful face and fought for breath as Lanik's hand tightened. The red shaft was close enough that one small movement and she would be horribly burned. His words tore at her, for he knew she had fallen before and her shame was great. But the reality of his treachery and her blindness to it, her defiance of the Code for the sake of his touch, and all the death and destruction that had been wrought at his hands and the hands of his allies crashed over her and her soul recoiled. _It's too much…too much. Better to give in…_She choked back a sob and then another thought came. _No, there is another way…_

Lanik must have sensed the turmoil within her for the lightsaber blade disappeared and his hand, though still around her throat, loosened its grip.

"Let us finish what I have begun," he said, leaning close to her. "You can't know the power, Bastila, that is there for the taking, unless you reach out and grab it."

Bastila nodded and thrust her chin out, her lips brushing against his. "Yes," she murmured.

"What a powerful dark Jedi you will be with me at your side," he said, kissing her lightly between his words.

Bastila closed her eyes and a soft moan escaped her. "I want it," she said. "I want you. Show me, Lanik."

"Mmm, yes," he hissed and kissed her even as he smiled in triumph.

Bastila returned his kiss, passionately, urgently. Her hands slipped around his neck, down his back, down, down…

She felt his lust awaken, felt his arrogance and pride at his triumph over her. He kissed her hard enough to cut her lips with his teeth. Bastila tasted her own blood but did not let it deter her. On the contrary, she returned his passion with equal fervor. One hand she had around his neck, gripping the amulet he wore, and the other she slipped slowly, carefully, moved to her belt. Her movements were soft and slow and when she had what she wanted she pulled away from his kiss and met his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said. "So sorry."

Lanik appeared perplexed and Bastila knew it was now or never. He was too powerful and so, though it pained her to do it, she made the small, almost imperceptible motion before he could realize his mistake. There came a 'click', followed by a sound like _whohm _and Lanik looked down just in time to see the green shaft of Bastila's lightsaber ignite itself into his stomach.

Lanik's reflexes were honed to perfection but he could do nothing to prevent the blade from tearing through him and emerging from his body on the other side. The pain was of such ferocity, it took on a whole life of its own—somehow a part of him and yet separate from him at the same time. He gasped and fell back, pulling himself off of the shaft of light. Bastila still had hold of his amulet and as he fell away from her—a stunned and enraged expression on his face—the delicate chain broke and he fell to the ground. Bastila stood over him. One hand gripped her lightsaber and from the other dangled the broken necklace that had shielded his true nature from them all…

* * *

Dane's head snapped up and she gasped. A ways from her, Jolee and Mical reacted similarly, and the three Jedi looked to one another, fearful expressions on all their faces.

"What is it?" Carth asked, growing alarmed.

"Dark side energy," Dane murmured. "A presence…"

Jolee and Mical ran to join them. "You feel it?" the old man asked.

"From the _Ebon Hawk,_ I think," the Disciple offered.

Dane nodded and then her eyes widened in fear. "Bastila!"

* * *

Bastila Shan watched as Lanik, one hand pressed to the burnt hole in his midsection, struggled and failed to get to his feet.

"Y-you bitch!" he snarled, his voice ragged with pain and choked with hatred. "What did...you d-do to me? How d-dare you!" His free hand fumbled to his belt and retrieved his own lightsaber. He ignited the crimson blade, but could not pull himself off the floor.

The amulet in Bastila's hand felt unclean; she tossed it aside and gripped her lightsaber in both hands. When she spoke, her voice sounded foreign and robotic to her ears. "I do not know if there is hope for you, Lanik, but I swear, if there is, I will show you mercy."

"M-mercy?" Lanik raged, and hauled himself to standing by propping his elbow against one of the chairs in the hold. He got to his feet and stood, swaying as though drunk and hunched over. He kept one hand pressed against his wound and the other held his lightsaber. He slashed it through the air to emphasize his words.

"Mercy?" he repeated. "You have k-killed me! Killed me, but not yet…not yet," he seethed and with a roar that was part rage and part pain, he suddenly flew at her, his red blade slicing down on her.

Bastila was taken aback at the ferocity of his attack. He had been run through with a lightsaber and yet he came at her, his wrath lending him strength to surpass the pain. Bastila parried his downward strike by twisting her body and bringing her own blade up so that it was parallel to the ground and high above her head. Lanik wasted no time, but disengaged their hissing blades and swung right and low, aiming for her exposed side. Bastila righted herself, blocked the blow, and offered a strike of her own. She held her lightsaber in both hands while Lanik could only use one. Relying on her strength, she brought her blade down on his again and again, driving him back toward the ship's commcenter.

Lanik snarled and the pure hatred and fury in his eyes was enough to give Bastila pause. He deflected her blow and kicked out with one foot, catching her in the stomach. With a whoosh of expelled air, Bastila went flying back and crashed onto one of the chairs. Lanik hunched over, coughing blood while Bastila recovered.

"N-not very Jedi…of you," Lanik seethed between gasps for air. He wiped the sleeve of his robe over his bloodstained chin, and curled his lips into a sinister grimace. "I thought…you pathetic Jedi n-never killed anyone…Aren't you going to try to turn me back to the light?" he sneered, and the two began circling one another, slowly, warily.

There was nothing in his eyes or in the fetid dark side energy that radiated off of him now that the amulet was gone that told Bastila he would ever turn back. His evil seemed to have no bounds, but was rooted deep within him. She wondered how he had ever kept up the charade of goodness so well or for so long.

"Even mighty Revan…even her you saved," Lanik continued, stumbling slightly. "So where, Bastila…_darling…_is my _fucking redemption!" _

With those words, he flew at her and this time his second hand joined the first on the hilt of his lightsaber and his strikes came with double the strength of his first. A shriek tore out of Bastila and she fell back, doing everything in her power to keep that red blade off of her.

As she fought him, a part of her watched, detached, and marveled that the blue eyes that had once looked at her with such warmth were now so cold and filled with hate. His full lips that had kissed her so tenderly were now curled in a snarl as he came at her. _He looks so different, _a part of her mused. _Like he is not the same person. _

_But he is the same person. He is Sith…He is the dark side…and I will _not_ fall again…_

The thought, cold and clear, rang out like a silver bell in Bastila's mind. With a burst of energy, Bastila drove him away from her and delivered a kick that caught him in the midsection. Lanik let out an inhuman howl and fell back, clutching his stomach. His lightsaber went skittering away, its blade retracting until it was nothing but a silver cylinder rolling across the hold of the _Ebon Hawk._

Bastila felt triumph well in her, and like a kind of madness, it warred with the knowledge the destruction Lanik had brought upon them.

"But I did not fall," Bastila muttered to herself, her breath coming in heaving gasps. "I did not fall." She knelt swiftly before Lanik, who was writhing in agony, his once-beautiful face twisted into a mask of pain and rage. Bastila gripped him by the lapels of his Jedi robe—_imposter's robe! _she thought—and forced him to look at her.

"I did not fall," she told him. "Your treachery may have begun with my blindness but it ends here. For now I see you, Lanik. I see you!"

Lanik's face, inches from her own, was covered in thin sheen of sweat. Blood flecked his lips, and his eyes were heavy with pain…and then they filled with tears. His grimace of agony became one of horrible grief and he clutched at her shoulder with one trembling hand.

"There was a time," he whispered in a cracked and broken voice, "when my brother and I…when we could have b-been…" Lanik's words became lost in bout of retching. More blood stained his chin and he regarded with eyes that mutely begged her for mercy from the pain.

Bastila said nothing and did not move as he clutched at her. He looked at her implacable face and his tears began to come in earnest.

"S-sorry," he cried. "I'm so sorry! So sorry!" he sobbed and crumpled against her.

Bastila was numbed by the torrent of emotions that coursed through her. She could only sit as this broken and dying man sobbed in her arms. _It is too late for him, _spoke a cold voice in her mind. _Think of what he's done! Think of the betrayal! _

But part of Bastila's triumph against the dark side was the knowledge that it was never too late.

This she spoke aloud, her voice sounding dull and lifeless and weary in her own ears. "It is not too late, Lanik," she said.

He sat up and his tearful eyes were now cold and cunning, his sobs quieted and his voice a hiss. "Oh, I'm afraid it is," he said and in one swift motion, buried a vibrodagger up to the hilt into Bastila's chest.

* * *

"What is it, what's happening?" Carth demanded as he, the Exile, Jolee and Mical raced along the rolling hills of Dantooine, toward the docking bay. The Republic soldiers who had been among them, fell into place along side them, their weapons drawn and their eyes scanning for threats.

"It's Bastila," Dane told him. "She's in danger."

"What?" Carth asked, feeling helpless and foolish among the Jedi who seemed to know what was happening. "Bad?"

Jolee nodded and Carth didn't like the unusual fear that touched the old man's eyes.

"Aye. Bad."

* * *

Bastila pulled away from Lanik and rose to standing. She regarded the dagger that protruded from her chest with a perfect mixture of awe and indifference. At her feet, Lanik wheezed a harsh laugh, his eyes rolling with delirium from the pain.

"Fool," he croaked, his laughter dying swiftly. "We could have had…all of it…You don't know what you threw away." His eyes fell to the hole in his stomach that was killing him and his anger returned, white and hot, though he had no strength left to feed it. "How dare you…" he said again. "Who are you…to beat me? You are nothing…no one…"

Lanik muttered on while Bastila sought to understand the last moments of her life. Her vision was rapidly growing clouding and the heavy pain that was lodged in her chest was fading. But she could still hear Lanik's words and so she lifted her lightsaber in one hand.

"Lanik," she admonished. "Quiet now."

He looked up at her, his eyes heavy. "No one…" he muttered. "You are…no one…"

Bastila put one finger to her lips. "Lanik, love, sssshh," she whispered and then her lightsaber came down and the green shaft of light severed his head from his neck in one clean stroke.

* * *

"Do you feel it?" Dane cried, and Carth was alarmed to see tears in her eyes.

"Aye," Jolee answered, and pressed his lips tightly together.

"What?" Carth demanded. "Will someone tell me what the frack is going on?"

But the Jedi said nothing, concentrating their energies on their race to the _Hawk. _Carth's fear hitched up a notch and he was glad when the ship finally came into view. But though he did not possess any Force power, his innate instincts were strong and his relief at the sight of the _Ebon Hawk _faded. He suddenly knew, with a heavy pang in his heart, that whatever was happening with Bastila, they were already too late.

* * *

The lightsaber fell out of Bastila's hands and rolled away disengaged, much as Lanik's had. She fell to her knees beside the dark Jedi's body. Tears sprang to her eyes and she finally mourned him—not for his death, but for everything he could have been, everything he had pretended to be, but was not.

Her fingers touched the soft folds of his robe and then she found her head, which had grown so heavy, lying against that softness. Darkness was coming and she welcomed it, for she was suddenly very tired. Tired but happy. Her tears rolled over her cheeks as her eyes looked out into the hold of the old freighter, the _Ebon Hawk. _She could smell the engine grease and then a figure stepped forward, wavering and blurry, like a mirage—a dark shadow lanced with a blue-green, electric light. The figure knelt before her and she could feel him smile gently at her.

"_It's all right," _said a deep, soft voice. "_Everything's all right."_

"I know," she told the figure, and a small smile played over her own lips as the darkness drew nearer, for she knew that whatever had happened, whatever she had done, in the end, Bastila Shan had remained true to the light.

* * *

**A/N: Due to technical difficulties, (I'm amazed I got this posted) all notes to reviewers will be put onmy LJ homepage tomorrow, Nov 6. So thank you all right now and please go to the homepage for a full thank you tomorrow. :)**


	37. Jaq

**Author's Note: Warning! Up ahead we got swearing, more swearing, drug use(sort of), groping, implied 'indignities', first-person narratives,murder,masturbation, drinking, smoking, hero-worship, still more swearing, more groping too, and finally,of course, angst. That should cover everything and still it's onlya T rating, I promise.**

**Discaimer: Don't own it, wish I did, don't sue. **

**Enjoy. **

* * *

**Chapter 37 **

**Jaq**

Atton felt as though his body had been turned inside out, set on fire, his limbs pulled apart and then put back together again with all the grace of a blind, one-armed Wookiee who had only a dubious grasp of human anatomy. He was lying on the floor of the prison room, his face pressed against the cold durasteel, trying his damnedest not to whimper. Lirik Thrakill stood over him.

"Hurts…"Atton said on behalf of his entire body for there was no part of him that wasn't in pain. And the part of his brain that wasn't preoccupied with the hurt was only now recovering from the images Lirik had sent him through the Force Terror.

His vision was limited to Lirik's boot and the metal-gray floor, but in his mind's eye, the yawning gorge of his future was before him again. It was as though he were dangling off the lip of that precipice and no matter how many times Lirik stomped on his fingers, he wouldn't let go of the edge.

_What am I waiting for? _he thought. _Let go and get this over with._

His tortured body ached for it, his battered psyche demanded it, but something in Atton could not let go. And so he lay on the cold, snow-smelling floor of the prison room while Lirik prepared to assault him yet again with that detested blue shock. Atton steeled himself for what was to come; he squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth…but the Force power never came.

Atton heard a sharp intake of breath and a moan of pain, and was mildly surprised to discover that neither had come from him. He peeked one eye open in time to see Lirik crumple to his knees, clutching his stomach and murmuring the name 'Lanik', over and over again.

_This is new, _Atton thought, and allowed himself a small sigh of relief.

Atton watched as the Jedi woman—Jude, he'd heard her called—stepped forward and angrily demanded to know what was happening.

"Lanik…oh, gods," Lirik moaned. His hands grabbed handfuls of the soft material of his robes at his midsection and his eyes took on a glazed quality, as though he were watching some horrible holovid that he could not tear his gaze from.

"What is it?" Jude demanded. Apparently not used to being ignored, she grabbed Lirik by the collar of his robe and yanked his head toward her. "What is happening? Tell me!"

Atton viewed the scene before him with a morbid fascination while quietly mustering his strength. The torture had left him drained but for now he was all but forgotten, and he lay perfectly still, watching as Lirik Thrakill unraveled right before his eyes.

"Tell me!" Jude shrieked, and Atton flinched at the sudden sound as it reverberated off the metallic walls. She reminded him of Raff O'Bannon—quick to anger and volatile. She slapped Lirik across the face but the young man hardly flinched. A red, hand-shaped mark colored his cheek but still he stared, gaping at nothing, his face a perfect mask of horror. Jude seemed at a loss when suddenly Lirik tore from her grip so violently, the woman was sent sprawling to the ground. He tried to get to his feet, but it was as though some unseen hand forced him down, and he could only crawl along the floor with a startling lack of his usual easy grace and decorum.

"Lanik, what is happening? Brother…?" he whimpered, louder and louder with every word, demanding the same question Jude had only moments before…only Lirik's words were filled with desperation and something else, something that Atton had never heard in the dark Jedi's tone before.

_He sounds like I did when the Exchange took Dane that morning on Nar Shaddaa,_ Atton thought. The possibility that Lirik might be capable of an emotion other than sadistic glee was a farfetched one but watching the young man now, Atton had little doubt. _So…the tables turn, _he thought dully. _I'm glad, you sick bastard. _But Atton had a hard time aligning his emotions to his harsh thoughts and he found himself, against his will, feeling sorry for Lirik.

The dark Jedi was now on his knees again, his head thrown back as he made his demands to the empty air around him. "What is happening? Lanik! Answer me! _Answer me!_" he screamed, raising his voice until the room echoed with the howl of his anguished words. And then suddenly, swiftly, Lirik's ceased his clamoring.

There was a moment of utter quiet and then he said in an astonished whisper, "He's gone."

The room was silent. The Sith guards who lined it made not a sound. Jude forgot to be incensed for having been roughly shoved away; Atton saw her flinch in shock and her face softened imperceptibly for a moment. Lirik looked around at Jude.

"He's gone," he said to her in that dumbfounded tone. "Where is he, Jude? Where is Lanik? I can't feel him…he's not there."

Jude shrank away from Lirik's reaching arms, the cold, hard expression reappearing on her face. She got to her feet and murmured something to two of the Sith guard while Lirik turned to Atton.

"Jaq, he's gone. Where is he?" Lirik demanded, his voice rising again.

Atton slowly and painfully sat up, for suddenly he had a sense that it wasn't too safe to remain lying prostrate on the ground beside the dark Jedi.

"I don't know, man," Atton replied.

That wasn't the answer Lirik was looking for, apparently, for he got to his feet, his face an ugly shade of red and tears standing out in his eyes. "_Where is he?" _he demanded. "Do you understand me? I… I can't feel him."

Atton got to his feet, swaying as a wave of dizziness crashed over him. "I don't know what you mean," he said, his throat still tight from the shock.

"_Damn you!_" Lirik screamed and delivered a sudden kick to Atton's midsection. "Help me! Why won't somebody help me, and tell me where he is? Where is my brother? Where…?"

Atton, on his knees again and winded, could only put up his hands to hope to block the next blow… but there wouldn't be another. Two Sith guards, on Jude's orders, took Lirik by the arms and began dragging him out of the room. Lirik kicked and screamed, tears streaming down his cheeks, voicing the same anguished plea again and again as he was taken away.

Atton coughed and sputtered and tried to catch his breath when rough hands hauled him to standing. Jude was standing before him, watching him intently, her expression calm, as though a man hadn't just thrown an agonized fit not one standard minute ago.

"Status report, please," Jude said and lit a cigarra.

"Come again?" Atton asked, eyeing the cigarra jealously. _What I wouldn't do…_

A twisted smile appeared on Jude's face and she handed over her cigarra to him. He accepted it gratefully and took a long drag.

"I said, 'status report', Jaq," Jude replied. "I want to know how Lirik's work is progressing." Her gaze went up and down and Atton could feel her crawling around in his mind, studying him with the Force as surely as she did with her eyes.

"Hmm, no, not quite there yet." She gave a small toss of her head and two Sith guards took hold of Atton's arms.

"This makes smoking rather difficult," Atton remarked.

Jude sauntered close to him—very close—and took the cigarra from his mouth. She pressed her body against his, her brown eyes locked on his gray-green ones. She was short, Atton thought, only reaching his chest in height. But she carried herself as if she towered over him and Atton could feel her dark side power, could smell it like a noxious perfume. With one hand she lifted the cigarra to her own lips and took a long, slow drag. The other she let trail over Atton's chest, his stomach, and down to his groin where it lingered over the coarse material of his pants. Atton tried to shift away from her touch and Jude responded by gripping tighter.

Jude smiled lazily. "I've read the files on you, Jaq. Impressive." She squeezed her hand a final time before letting go. "_Very_ impressive."

"Glad you think so," Atton said dully.

"Yes, you will make a fine Sith…again," she said and winked at him through her cigarra smoke.

"One to replace that Lanik person?" Atton couldn't help but remark snidely. "Sounds like he came to a bad end. And did you have Lirik killed? 'Cause if you did, you're now down _two_ dark Jedi—"

Faster than his tired mind could imagine, Jude's hand shot out and slapped him full across the face. His cheek was on fire and his ears were ringing but he managed a crooked, defiant smile.

Jude's anger fled as quickly as it had come and she returned his smile. "Lanik was an unfortunate loss, but you shall more than make up for him…in every way possible," she said and moistened her lips with her tongue.

"And Lirik?" Atton asked, more to distract her from her insinuations then because he cared.

"And Lirik…" Jude said and sighed. "As much as I detest that little imbecile, I have further use for him. I have not had him killed, if that's what you think. Only sedated until he gets over the loss of his brother. They were…close."

"I'm crying over here, really," Atton muttered without energy.

Jude studied him. "Hmm, no not now. But you were…and you will be. You see, I have given Darth Tertius the files on you as well, and our Dark Lord has, shall we say, a real facility for absorbing data."

"I'll bet he does," Atton remarked. "Just tell me, lady, where do you insert the datacards? I have a guess—"

Atton was silenced by Jude's hand whipping out a second time and slapping him with the speed of a striking viper. Fury marked her face for an instant and then was replaced by a pout. Her stinging hand became gentle as she caressed his cheek.

"Don't make me do that, Jaq," she crooned. "You've already scratched up your handsome face enough…although I must say it makes you look more feral…more dangerous." She smiled playfully and then withdrew.

"Come. It is time to finish what Lirik has begun."

Jude made a motion and the Sith guards followed her out of the prison room, two of them hauling Atton between them.

As they moved through the silvery interior of the Academy, Atton felt as though he were sitting in back of his body, watching the whole thing with a morbid curiosity. His heart thudded dully with fear but he offered no resistance and when they got to the door of the rearmost chamber in the facility, Atton could only stand frozen as the Sith released him. They backed away from that door with noticeable trepidation.

_That can't be good—if the bad guys are afraid of the bad guys, _Atton thought. Only Jude seemed unperturbed as she activated the door. It slid open to reveal another round chamber—Atris' old chamber— much like the previous, only the walls of this one were lined with glittering red prisms that whispered and growled in a language Atton didn't understand. But he wasn't paying attention to the holocrons. At the rear of the chamber, sitting on a tri-throned dais and shrouded in black was that Dark Lord of the Sith that had stripped him of his lightsaber on the street of Coruscant with the flick of the wrist. Atton felt his mouth go dry and he took an involuntary step back.

"It's all right, Jaq," Jude purred from somewhere at his side. "It is almost over. Darth Tertius will do for you what Lirik could not. Go, and when you come out, everything will be as it should."

Atton looked round at her. "You're not coming in with me?" he asked, all of his swagger and sarcasm erased by the fear that gripped him at the sight of those three hooded figures.

Jude stood on her toes and placed a slow, lingering kiss on his cheek. "I'll be waiting for you when you come out," she whispered, her lips brushing his ear, and then Atton was shoved into the chamber and the door slid shut behind him.

* * *

"Step forward." 

Atton was shocked at the sound of a human voice coming from one of the three hooded figures—the one in the center, he guessed. The voice did little do assuage the fear that had turned his legs to rubber and his stomach inside out, however. But despite the fear, Atton did not move. A reckless defiance came over him and he decided, unconsciously, that if he was going to go down, it wouldn't be without a fight.

"No thanks, I'm good right here," he said, wishing his voice didn't sound so tremulous in the vast, echoing chamber.

"_Insolent, this one is," _remarked the figure left of center, in a voice of the same quality of the first.

"**Let us break him of it now,**" spoke the third, right of center, its voice a touch harder and colder than the first two. Atton decided immediately he liked that one the least.

"Patience," spoke the center, and although all three wore hoods that covered most of their faces, Atton had the distinct notion that the center figure had turned its gaze to him and was regarding him intently. "Your defiant spirit is commendable—as it will serve us well—but do not toy with us, fool."

Atton suddenly felt an unseen force begin to drag him forward and he had no choice but to walk or fall over. As he was pulled—or pushed, Atton didn't know which—toward the three, they spoke in perfect concert, their words falling on each other's heels.

"Often you have been called the fool."

"_Often you have _been_ the fool, failing in your loyalties."_

"**You've lost your way."**

"But we can show you the path you have strayed from."

"_You will serve us again_**."**

"**Or you will die**."

Atton was now at the foot of the raised dais upon which the three sat and that unseen force pressed down on him so that he went to his knees.

"Look at us," said the center.

Atton raised his head only because he thought they might sweep it from his neck with one of the three lightsabers that rested on the arms of their chairs if he didn't. With that same perfect, eerie unison, the three figures raised their arms to the hoods of their robes.

"You have forgotten much," said the center.

"_Blinded by what…love?"_

"**You betrayed us, traitor!"**

"And now it is time to go back."

Atton swallowed hard, thinking he could never, ever have been scared in all his life, because he had never felt anything like the terror that raged through him now. _I don't want this. I've made a terrible mistake. How could I ever have agreed to this? Dane…Oh gods, Dane, I'm sorry… so sorry…Please, it's not too late to take it back. Let it not be too late…_

The three hands, with a perfect sameness of motion, withdrew their hoods and then Atton couldn't think anymore. He couldn't move or breathe or blink. His world, the entirety of his life and experience, became three pairs of blood-red, flashing eyes and the words of the Dark Lord of the Sith…and Atton Rand started to become a memory. He saw nothing but those eyes and every word uttered was a command that he had no choice but to obey. He slipped into the trance, into the trap they had laid for him, and the lesson Lirik had begun so long ago—lifetimes ago—came to its conclusion.

"The way toward redemption in our eyes is to become what you once were," said Darth Tertius.

"_You have forgotten."_

"**But we will make you remember**…"

"Remember when you learned who your real enemies were…"

"_Remember when you tasted the power that comes with striking them down…"_

"**Remember why you hate…"**

"Now tell us why you fell, Jaq…"

"_Tell us how you found the glory …"_

"**Tell us how Jaq the Assassin came to be."**

"Tell us**."**

"_Tell us_**."**

**  
"Tell us everything, traitor. Everything."**

And so Atton did.

* * *

_I heard the screams long before I made it to my home. Smoke choked the air and obscured my vision and I became vaguely aware that a fire was consuming the small, four-room shack I shared with my older sister and father. The village had been ransacked while I was at work, piloting a freighter for a local merchant. The Mandalorians had struck hard and fast, and most of the corpses I passed as I raced by were people I recognized. But I hardly saw them…I could think only of my home, my family. _

_My father was already dead when I pushed open the front door. The man who stood over the corpse was not a Mandalorian, but one of the scavengers of war—the poor and desperate lowlifes who picked over the spoils of what they were too weak and cowardly to conquer themselves. _

_Another of the scum was bent over my sister. _

_A blind rage overcame me. "Nima!"_ _I screamed, and raced forward without thought as to what I would do when I reached the man…something horrible…something violent…_

"_Jaq, no!" Nima cried. "Run!" _

_But it was too late. A third thug, one I hadn't seen, stepped forward and swung something heavy and hard at me. A club maybe. All I saw was black. _

_When I awoke, my house was a smoldering ruin, my father was still murdered, and my sister violated and killed. The scavengers were gone, having left me for dead, I suppose. I lay down beside Nima's body and cried, wishing I had never woken up. I had come too late, I hadn't saved them. I cried until I was empty and then I stopped crying. I haven't cried since. _

_So, what next? I had no family, no home, no planet, even. Not really. It was destroyed and even if I had any love for that shit heap (which I didn't) there was little point in staying to rebuild. It was a tiny backwater hole and I was a backwater rat whose big claim to fame was being able to fly a ship since before I could walk. Well, maybe not that early, but early enough. But that's it. Even in a tiny pisshole village people couldn't remember my name. I was "Rand's boy", or "Nima's little brother." They all thought I was stupid or slow, 'cause I said the wrong things sometimes and they laughed at me. No, I wasn't about to cry over the village. But that doesn't mean that someone had the right to wipe it off the face of the planet like they were wiping their ass. I hated myself for letting my family down, but I was no fool like the others thought I was. I was smart enough to know there were others who had made this happen. _

_The scavengers burned and looted what the Mandalorians left behind. The Mandalorians destroyed and killed until the village was declared defeated. The village was left unprotected and alone to face that threat…because the Jedi would not act. So this is what I did: _

_I wiped my tears and covered Nima's face with a blanket. I closed my father's staring eyes and silently promised both of them that I would destroy every last Mandalorian who had attacked the defenseless village…and then the Jedi who had let it happen._

_I was nineteen years old. _

* * *

"And what happened next, Jaq?" 

"_Tell us about the war."_

"**Tell us about how good you were at killing."**

* * *

_Killing Mandalorians was easy. They were the bad guys and I had been wronged—grievously wronged in an epic proportion kind of way, by them. But I had this bad feeling in me, like a hole that just kept getting bigger and bigger. I thought killing the Mandalorian bastards would fill it up, but it never did. I had nightmares too. Always the same, always me rushing in to save my sister and father and me being too late. Always too late. So I kept killing Mandalorians. I was the real bad guy, I knew, but I couldn't bring myself to turn my blasters on myself. Instead, I sought relief and I filled up that hole with as much death and hate and anger as I could. And still it grew bigger. _

_My superior officers eyed me more and more warily. I could feel their eyes on my back as I walked to my fighters. I heard their whispered words; they thought I was likely a Section Eight. I couldn't care less what a bunch of stiff-shirted assholes thought of me, just so long as they let me keep fighting. I made them eat their words with confirmed kill after confirmed kill, because what the Republic really needed was dead Mandalorians, and I delivered, man. Oh yes, I did. _

_I liked piloting okay, but I wanted—I _needed_— the immediacy of face-to-face combat. I wanted to see the faces of my enemies as I killed them. I met up with some Echani warrior and I studied the Echani method with him in my spare time. He thought I was full of honor and respected the craft of battle. What a crock. I studied it because the thought of extinguishing the life out of my enemy with nothing but my bare hands excited me. By the time I had finished my training, I was a finely honed killing machine, an ideal soldier…in theory. _

_Confirmed kills or not, my superior officers didn't trust me at all. Fine by me. I didn't trust them either. I was glad that someone was trying to stop those bastard Mandalorians from running loose all over the damn galaxy but that didn't mean I had to like the Republic. They didn't like me, so what? The feeling was mutual. _

_Their solution was to send me out on increasingly dangerous assignments. They told themselves it was because I wanted those assignments. And that was true. I actually demanded to be placed as close to the worst of the fighting as possible. But the officers complied, really, because each secretly hoped maybe this time I wouldn't come back. Har, har, the joke's on them…I was hoping for the same damn thing. _

_Anyway, the fighting did get real bad. The Mandalorians were winning and there wasn't a damn thing we were able to do about it. It was like the galaxy was this body that kept spurting blood. We'd tie a tourniquet around one part and then another would spout out somewhere else. We were always playing catch up and our forces were getting spread real thin. Hell, I wasn't an officer but even I could read the writing on the wall. We were knee deep in it… until she came. _

_Revan. _

_I saw her one day up close and I'm sure my bunkmate didn't get any sleep that night for all the jerking off I did. Then again, he'd seen her too, so maybe he did the same thing. Everyone had a hard-on for Revan._

_She was a tall, thin woman with short blond hair and a hard expression always on her face. And her face…damn she was beautiful. She was like a statue, a goddess, something far removed from us mortal nerf-herders. From the moment she opened her mouth, she was in charge and it was kind of funny to see the Republic stiff-shirts fall all over themselves in gratitude to her—her and that creep Malak she kept around. But charisma and beauty will only get you so far. We were in the shit and if she couldn't bail us out, our newfound loyalty wasn't going to last. Fortunately, she delivered what she promised. Her military strategy was incredible, her tactics ingenious. I don't know the finer points of it; I just flew where she told me to fly and we started winning. _

_But winning doesn't mean war is easy. I was at Socorro when the crystal cities came crashing down, shattered by the Mandalorian forces. I watched on the holovids the news of the Iridonian worlds falling one after the other, like dominoes…and then came Malachor V. _

_Malachor V was the worst. Just being on that planet was like being in that shack with my dead sister and father all over again. It was like the whole planet was made up of all the horrible shit that can happen in your life and you're just sitting in it, day after day, absorbing it like some poison gas. It was a planet made of nightmares instead of rock and earth and I think it started to change Revan._

_She killed Mandalore the Ultimate and that was supposed to be the end. But it wasn't. Something was happening…something was left unfinished. And that's when it all came apart. _

_Revan gave the command. Some other Jedi, some general in Revan's service, saw it carried out. The mass shadow generator was activated. The planet was nearly destroyed. _

_And then Revan fell._

_She had been on her way, the rumors had it, but soon all the people spreading the rumors—the Republic soldiers— were turning Sith too. And so did the Jedi under her command, but for one. The general who had pushed the button on the mass shadow generator had defected. But a lot didn't. Most didn't. I didn't._

_I couldn't. Revan was the only person who had given my life meaning and purpose—who had fed my need for revenge. I sure as shit wasn't about to abandon her now. I would do anything for her. I would die for her…I would kill for her. _

_And so I did._

_And I was good at it. _

* * *

"Tell us about your first kill, Jaq." 

"_Tell us how you kept your vow to your sister."_

"**Tell us how you fulfilled your destiny**."

* * *

_I was more scared than I had ever been in all my twenty-five years of life as I watched my team circle the Jedi. They were like a pack of kath hounds, my team, surrounding a helpless ronto. But this ronto wasn't altogether helpless and I gripped the handle of my vibrodagger tightly. Stupid, puny knife. It seemed so small and useless compared to the blue lightsaber the Jedi was using to keep the Sith at bay, but it was all I had. It was all my commanding officer had allowed me to have on this, my first hunt._

"_This is your test, Jaq," the Sith officer had told me on the transport. "One vibrodagger is all you get." I hardly knew the guy, but I'll remember his words until my dying day—they were the best piece of advice I had ever gotten concerning the killing of Jedi. _

"_Jedi are wily and will try to outsmart you. The second you think you're going to overpower one with your weapon is the same second they'll pull some Force trick on you and then you're dead. Get used to using your wits against them…they're gullible and weak. They see a poorly armed opponent and are likely to feel sorry for you. So take just this tiny blade, Jaq, and show me what you got."_

_Pure Pazaak, those words. They got me out of more jams than I care to count. But at the time, I thought he was full of shit. I thought those words were empty and stupid and no shield against the Jedi we now faced, even if we did outnumber him twelve to one. The Jedi's countenance was grim and he didn't appear as though he'd hesitate to kill all of us right then and there. Nope, no Jedi mercy here. Not that I could blame him. If I were him, I'd want to kill all of us too. We were up to no good…no good at all. _

_I watched this Jedi, this, my first victim. I studied him, trying to find what it was in him I hated so much. I had to hate him, didn't I? He let my family die. Well, his Order did. His Order did a whole lot of nothing and sometimes that's just as bad as a whole lot of something. _

_But watching the Jedi, I felt really afraid, and it was a new kind of fear, one I hadn't felt during the war. And that's saying something. Mandalorians' war cries alone could make a brave man piss his pants, but this Jedi must have been working some kind of Force power on me. It was the kind of fear one had when facing an enemy who would just as soon shake your hand as kill you, if you gave him the chance. The kind of enemy who wasn't an enemy at all if you didn't want him to be, and the fear wasn't for the pain you might suffer at his hands, but for the pain you would feel for his suffering. _

_That had to be a trick. Some Jedi Force shit to make me feel sorry for him. But I remembered the blood on his sister's clothes and the grimace of pain on the face of my father's corpse. It was because of Jedi, like this one that my team and me had cornered, that the Mandalorians butchered my family. I owed this Jedi nothing, but he owed me plenty. And so I gripped my tiny little vibrodagger and vowed I'd find a way to put it to use. Turned out that guy on the transport was right. I didn't use the dagger after all. _

_Three of my assassin team members struck first. _

_I like that word, assassins. It sounds clean and deadly, like we were. _

_The three jabbed at the Jedi with their long shock sticks, making certain to keep out of range of the humming lightsaber. One guy lost his arm for the effort—the Jedi just sliced it right off—but another assassin managed to strike the Jedi's hands. The shock numbed his grip and he dropped his weapon on the ground. Big mistake. The assassin unit converged on him like the hounds we were and I was right there with them. _

_The Jedi was a young man, younger than me, even, and not terribly experienced. After he lost his lightsaber, the poor bastard never had a chance. The guys in my unit—except for the guy with one arm, he was still screaming bloody murder— pinned down the Jedi's thrashing legs and arms, some delivering swift kicks to his stomach and ribs. I found himself at the Jedi's head, crowded in between two of my teammates. I knelt on the ground, close to the struggling Jedi but not touching him. I couldn't touch him, and suddenly I felt sick. I watched as an assassin—Harlen, I think his name was—pulled a syringe from out of his jacket and made to jab it into the Jedi. Another man stopped him._

"_Wait, Harl, let Jaq do it. It's his first."_

"_Yeah," laughed another, "let Jaq pop his cherry."_

_Harlen smirked and the syringe was passed to me._

_I recognized the milky yellow liquid inside for what it was—an awful substance that left its victims helpless by cramping the muscles so badly oftentimes their bones would snap. I had seen it used only one time, but once was enough to know that shit was brutal. I held the syringe to the Jedi's neck but did not depress the plunger. _

"_Hurry up, man!" Harlen spat, but I couldn't move. It was as though time had slowed down and I had become frozen. I don't know why that happened…but I just couldn't do it. _

_The Jedi took advantage of the delay and whipped one arm free. Before anyone could react, he summoned the Force and sent five of the team flying backward with a wave of energy. _

_A small flurry of chaos ensued when it looked as though the Jedi was going to break free…but then, all in one second, I saw my sister, helpless and afraid. The last moments of her life came to me and, as always, I was reminded of my own failure to save her. And how the Jedi failed too…_

"_You did not help her," I heard myself say to the Jedi. He was sitting up, his back to me and getting ready to stand. _

_Without thinking, I reached up and took hold of the Jedi's head with my hands. One snaked around his head to grab the Jedi's forehead, the other to his chin. With a quick twist and a snap it was over, and the Jedi's body—empty now—crumpled into my lap._

_The assassin unit, to a man, froze in whatever act of defense or offense they had been preparing to take against the Jedi. There was a brief silence and then a cheering as they realized what had happened. I was hauled to my feet and they pounded me on the back and barked congratulations in my ears. _

"_One down, thousands to go, Jaq," one guy laughed._

"_Yep, Jaq's one of us," said another. "There's no turning back now."_

_There's no turning back now. That's for damn sure. I had killed that Jedi good and clean…turned out I had a knack for it. _

_I nodded and gave the corpse of the Jedi a final glance before my team took me out to celebrate, to drink booze and get laid. _

_Now I was a Sith. Now I was worthy to serve Revan again, and that was all that mattered. _

_Nima's face came to my mind throughout the night…as I drank himself into a stupor, as I played Pazaak, as I fumbled drunkenly in bed with the prostitute…and each time Nima appeared, she looked sad and she was crying._

_I thought that meant I had more work to do, more Jedi to kill to avenge her. But as the years passed and as I rose in the ranks of the Sith to become one of their most successful elite Jedi killers, Nima never did stop crying, and I began to suspect she was crying for me, for what I had become. _

"_Stupid," I told her. "I do this for you."_

_But still she cried and so finally I had to forget her. _

_I was different now. I was no longer the fool who said the wrong things and people laughed. Now I was sharp and clever and people laughed when I wanted them to. The dumb, poor kid from a no-name village was now the elite of the elite. I was a somebody--famous even—for my skills were unmatched. And Revan loved me. I was the favorite assassin of the greatest military genius in galactic history. I was a hero… a goddamn star. The Jedi I murdered would never know my identity, but the Sith did. Oh yeah, they all knew who I was. _

_Everyone knew the name Jaq Rand. _

* * *

"You remember now, what you were," intoned the center. 

"_You remember that you were the best of the best,_" remarked the left.

"**You remember you still have a job to do**," growled the right.

The man before them raised his head, a dark glint in his eye. He got to his feet—for he had been lying on the floor; unseemly, for one of his rank and stature. His lip curled into a sneer—a wicked facsimile of a smile—and he bowed before the Dark Lord of the Sith.

"Yes, lord," Jaq said. "I remember everything."

* * *

Jaq sat in the small room that had been designated as his chambers. Although he was hazy on the details, he had the sense that he was important somehow. The Sith soldiers regarded him with a touch more respect now and hurried to assist him. At first he thought it was the dark Jedi robes he now wore, but he thought it more likely it was because he had been locked in the rearmost chamber of the Academy with Darth Tertius for hours… and had come out of it alive. 

Now, he sat in his room alone. It consisted of a table, chair, bed, refresher and a locker to stash his old clothes. He had meant to throw those clothes away—his ribbed jacket, pants and gauntlets—or burn them in an incinerator. But word came from Jude that he would need them in order to complete her plans for destroying the Exile and the other Jedi. So Jaq had tossed them unceremoniously into the locker. He then sat at the small chair in front of the small table, chain-smoking cigarras and trying to put his memory back together.

Hours passed and he suspected it was well into night and still he was no closer to remembering what, exactly, had occurred in the chamber with Darth Tertius. Memories of his youth and life as a Sith assassin swam up at him but he failed to see their importance. They were memories only, but good ones, he thought with a thin smile. The glory days… and now he was back, ready to pick up where he had left off. But something was missing…

A rap at the door jarred him from his thoughts.

"Yeah," he said by way of greeting.

The door slid open and Jude Gracus stepped inside the dim room. Jaq had only one small lamp on and the light fell softly over the woman's dark sleeping robe and glittered on the glasses she held in her hand. She stopped in the door and regarded him.

"Oh Jaq, black is definitely your color," she purred.

Jaq smoothed down the front of his robes. "You like'em?" he asked. "Yeah, they're definitely an improvement."

"I should say so," Jude said and slid the door shut behind her. "Would you like some company?" she asked and came forward.

Jaq shrugged. "I guess." He eyed the bottle of wine she carried as well. "Didn't know Atris liked her booze," he remarked.

"Oh, honey, this wine is mine," Jude said, setting the glasses down on the table. As she bent over to pour the wine Jaq was afforded a generous view of her ample breasts, for she wore her robe loosely and with nothing underneath. "I never go anywhere without a carton of cigarras and a case of cheap wine," Jude continued with a laugh.

She handed Jaq one glass and sat on the edge of the table close to him. She crossed her legs to reveal an expanse of smooth thigh and held her glass to his in toast.

"To you, Jaq," she murmured. "I heard you were wonderful…"

Jaq snorted indelicately and loudly, in contrast to the woman's quiet, seductive tones. "I didn't do anything," he said, and drained half his glass. "In fact, I don't remember much…"

"Don't worry about that," Jude said. She took the cigarra from Jaq's hands and took a long, slow drag. "All that matters is that you're with us now," she continued.

"Of course," Jaq said. He stroked the front of his dark Jedi robes. "I gotta tell you, never thought I'd be doing my job as a Jedi, though. Part of the thrill before was that I wasn't one of them. I was just a regular guy and I still took them out. Now…" Jaq shrugged and finished off his wine. Jude poured him more.

"Think of it only as not letting your talents go to waste," Jude said. "You can use the Force now, as it was meant to be used. It can supplement your skills, not supplant them."

Jaq nodded. "Yeah, okay. I read you."  
Jude narrowed her eyes. "Do you, Jaq?" she demanded and leaned towards him, her eyes glinting cold and harsh in the dim light. "Because tomorrow we set my plan in motion. I need to know you will not hesitate at the crucial moment."

Jaq snorted again and took back his cigarra. "Why would I? Of course, _knowing_ the plan might be useful. I think I could offer a lot more if I knew, you know…_what the hell it is I'm supposed to be doing_."

"I'm going to use you as bait to bring the Exile and her Jedi friends here." Jude regarded him intently for a moment, studying his reaction.

Jaq took a drag off his cigarra. "As if she would come for me now," he said slowly, meeting her eyes.

"Of course she will come for you. She's in love with you. People in love always do foolish things." Jude smiled wickedly. "It is their defining characteristic."

"Maybe so. But one thing, Jude. What makes you think the Exile won't enlist the entire damn Republic fleet to join her little rescue party? I doubt the Admiral will think twice about bombing us into oblivion rather than have a Sith stronghold so close to his precious TSF station."

Jude sighed and rose from her perch on the table. She walked the perimeter of the small room, her black, velvety robes trailing behind her. "Oh Jaq, you think I am as stupid as that? Dane Koren knows perfectly well that if she brings a mob of Republics with her, you're a dead man. Or at least, she'll know that tomorrow…after you tell her."

"If you think I'm going to be your sacrificial rong boar, you got another thing coming…"

"Silence, Jaq." Jude stopped her pacing and let her hand trail up and down the lapel of her robe. "Tomorrow you will contact the Exile and play the part of the tortured and pining lover. She will come to save you and she will come alone…but for the Jedi. This I know."

"She'll see I'm a fake."

"How?"

"We're bonded," Jaq spat the word.

"Who is?" Jude demanded, her seductive tone suddenly replaced by venom.

Jaq frowned, confused. "Me and her. The Exile."

"Say her name."

"What?"

"Say her name!" Jude cried and flew at him suddenly, gripping him by his collar. "Say it, Jaq. I want to see what happens in your eyes when you say the Exile's name. Tell me who you're bonded to."

Jaq leaned back in his chair and lazily took a drag off his cigarra. He met Jude's gaze and said unflinchingly, "I am bonded to Dane Koren."

A slow smile spread over Jude's features. "Nothing," she said softly. "Nothing at all…"

Jaq stubbed out his cigarra on a small plasteel lid he had been using for an ashtray and put his hands on Jude's hips. Roughly, he pulled her forward so that she was pressed against him. His eyes trailed up and down her body, lingering over her breast left exposed by her loosely tied garment.

"I can't remember her so well anymore," Jaq said huskily, "but I think you need some proof." His hands went to the ties at her waist and he pushed her robe open. "You want me to prove it to you, don't you?" he murmured and kissed the exposed skin of her abdomen.

Jude, her fingers entwined into his hair, moaned softly.

"Yes, Jaq. Prove it."

* * *

The effects of the sedation wore off slowly at first, and then faster as the time wore on. Lirik fought consciousness for as long as he could, but sometime, in the darkest of night, the drugs Jude had ordered he be given were gone and he was awake. Awake and more alone than he had ever been in his twenty-seven years of life. 

_Lanik…_

He sent out the call every other second it seemed and he suspected he had been doing it in his sleep—even in the deepest part of his unconsciousness. He called to his brother, but there was nothing there.

Lirik sat up on the edge of the small bed in the small room and waited as a wave of dizziness passed.

_Lanik…_

_Shut up, he's dead,_ he told himself. But it was automatic, him calling for his brother, his twin who had, since the womb, been in his mind and thoughts and soul. Now there was only an emptiness. A void of silence so loud Lirik thought he would go mad.

There would be no more sleeping this night, nor for many others, he suspected. He had to get up and move about; try to focus on something other than that void.

He left his room and wandered the silent, cold corridors of the Academy, his soft footfalls barely making a sound.

_Lanik…_

Lirik huddled into his robes and hunched over, walking like a man against a snowstorm. _I need a distraction… Perhaps Jaq is awake. Maybe he'll play cards with me. _

Lirik asked a Sith guard which room was Jaq's but when he got there, the sounds coming from the other side of the door told him that Jude had wanted to play with Jaq too.

Lirik felt a wave of anger wash over him and he fought not to kick the door in frustration.

_Damn whore…Lanik dead for no more than a day and already…_

_Lanik dead…_

Lanik was dead.

Suddenly Lirik was kneeling on the floor, his face pressed into the sleeve of his robes, trying to conceal the sound of his sobs. He cried for he felt as thought he were missing some part of himself. He was an amputee, half of a whole person and the ache of that hollowness tore at his heart.

A part of him hoped his sobbing, his weakness, would garner a reprimand from his brother, but there was nothing. Only silence. Lirik wiped his eyes on his sleeve and stood up.

He walked slowly back to his room, past the ranks of the Sith who had the night watch. None of them said anything to him, no word of greeting. He lay back down on his bed and stretched out his senses for some trace of Lanik. There were none. Instead, he felt the dark energies around him, like a fog of poison and pain. He felt the power in the rearmost chamber—emanating from the holocrons that whispered like demons in the dark. And the overwhelming darkness from Darth Tertius himself, undoubtedly sitting silent and still in the shadows.

Lirik shivered and hunched into the thin blanket of his small bed. He was awake for long hours as wild and volatile thoughts swam in his mind. He remembered his words to Jaq on the street of Coruscant…. "From over here, it is all so very beautiful."

Now, lying so terribly alone in his room, surrounded by the black energy of the dark side and the interminable silence of his brother's absence, Lirik Thrakill was beginning to think that none of it looked so very beautiful anymore.

* * *

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	38. Goodbyes

**Chapter 38**

**Goodbyes**

* * *

**Telos, Secret Academy, Polar Regions**

"Can we try this again, please?" Lirik asked.

The dark Jedi wasn't at all surprised that his question went ignored—again—by Jaq and Jude. The three of them were in one of the chambers of the Academy near the hangar, arrayed around a commcenter, attempting to create the message that was to be sent to the Exile. Jaq and Jude were the actors while Lirik manned the hologram camera, but the pair spent so much time fooling around and cackling like idiots, Lirik thought they would never be finished.

The initial plan had been to send a live broadcast to the _Ebon Hawk,_ but it soon became apparent that neither Jaq nor Jude could keep a straight face when it came to Jaq having to play at being the helpless victim. He couldn't say the Exile's name without snorting derisive laughter and so it was decided a recorded message was safer. They had been at it for nearly an hour and were no closer to finishing than when they had started.

Lirik leaned back in his chair and waited for the latest bout of laughter to subside. Jaq was lying on his back on the floor, clutching his stomach and with tears streaming out of his eyes, while Jude stood over him, a vibrosword in her hand, her face red with mirth.

"Get on your knees, worm!" Jude ordered, her giggling undoing any power the command may have had.

Jaq sat up and wiped a hand over his eyes. "On my knees, eh?" he said, quieting his own laughter. He got to his feet and pulled Jude to him roughly. "I like it better when you're on _your_ knees, and I'm the one standing…"he murmured, pressing his face against her neck.

"Mmm, perhaps later," Jude returned, "if you behave…"

Lirik rolled his eyes as the two kissed noisily. It was a kiss without affection—all lust and dueling tongues and the dark Jedi looked away, disgusted. If the pair weren't laughing and behaving like fools, they were pawing at one another without the slightest sense of decency. It was enough to make Lirik nauseous. Before the present embrace could progress into something more, he loudly cleared his throat. The pair separated and Jude shot him a nasty glare.

Lirik held up his hands. "Well? Are we going to do this or not?"

"Oh, relax," Jaq drawled, and fished in the pocket of his ribbed jacket for a cigarra. He had changed from his dark Jedi robes back into his old clothes—his 'costume' he called it—for the message. He lit the cigarra and slumped gracelessly into another chair at the console. "What's your hurry, Lirik? You got something better to do?"

"He's just jealous," Jude said and slithered onto Jaq's lap. She took a drag off his cigarra.

"I can see why," Jaq said, raking his eyes over her.

Jude laughed. "Not of you…he's jealous of _me_," she said, "if you catch my meaning…"

Jaq's eyes widened and he peered around at the dark Jedi. "Is that a fact? I'd better watch my back then, eh?" he laughed.

"Don't flatter yourself," Lirik muttered, as the two continued to giggle and whisper like a pair of children. It had quickly become a common pastime—the two of them talking about him as if he weren't in the room.

_Why must I suffer this, brother? _he sent without thinking. There was no answer, of course, and the reality of the silence—or, the Void, as he had come to think of it—came crashing back to him. He closed his eyes against the ache that flared up and waited for it to pass. He was careful to keep his pain to himself and not let the others see lest a new bout of derision and mockery come his way, but Jaq and Jude were presently occupied…again.

"I hate to interrupt what is clearly a special moment between you," Lirik told the pair with sarcasm, "but the Exile—"

"Will you be quiet already?" Jude cut him off, wrenching herself from Jaq's kiss. "The Exile will come. I told you, you are to leave all the planning and strategizing and _thinking_ to those more qualified. Your job is to push the button on that recording device… and pine after your brother," she said and then she and Jaq broke down into more gales of laughter.

Lirik pressed his lips together and said nothing.

"You're such a bitch," Jaq told her appreciatively.

"Perhaps, but my plans always work," she said haughtily.

Jaq snorted laughter. "Is that a fact?"

Jude turned her icy glare on him. "Yes, that is a fact. Don't tell me you doubt me as well? If you do, Jaq, you're more than welcome to spend your nights in Lirik's room…Undoubtedly he'd prefer that."

"Well Jude, of any of us, you _would_ be the expert on who wants who in their bed,"Lirik returned but the woman ignored him. He wondered for the hundredth time that day if it would be very detrimental to his future if he shoved a dagger into Jude's ribcage. _Or perhaps merely slice out her tongue. The lords wouldn't be so angry with me for that, would they? Perhaps they'd reward me for silencing that infernal _schutta

Jude was glaring at Jaq and the assassin laughed.

"Touchy, touchy," Jaq chuckled. "I don't doubt your scheming will be successful…this time."

"Just what are you inferring, Jaq?" Jude said and slipped off his lap. Lirik was already flinching for Jaq's sake, for the woman's hands were in prime slapping position. But Jaq didn't appear perturbed. He leaned back in his chair and took a drag off his cigarra, looking as though he hadn't a care in the world.

"You want to hear a secret?" he asked both of them.

"What?" Jude said, clearly not in the mood anymore for games.

Lirik, surprised he was included in this conversation, shrugged in response.

"I knew you were going to attack Coruscant," Jaq said, a wicked glimmer in his eye.

Jude's jaw dropped. "What? How did you know?"

"I overheard you two talk about it in the _Hawk_ that night," Jaq said and went on to explain the conversation he had overheard.

Jude's eyes were wide when he had finished. "And you didn't tell the Exile?" Her smile was wide and triumphant. "Oh, Jaq, how delightful." Her expression immediately darkened as she turned to Lirik. "Careless fool!" she screeched. "I swear, he cannot be trusted with even the smallest of tasks," she confided to Jaq, slipping back onto his lap, all forgiven and forgotten.

Lirik didn't bother to remind Jude that Jaq likely hadn't ratted out their plan to the Exile because of his own work in turning Jaq to the dark side. _I should have left well enough alone. The look on Jude's face would have been worth it._

Thinking of failed plans and discovered treacheries reminded Lirik that he and Jude were in a fair amount of trouble themselves. Jude had absconded with one hundred and twenty of the count's Sith forces—a staggering number when one considered how depleted the Sith forces were already in their fight against Revan. Of those one hundred and twenty, only one fifth remained. _And Lanik is dead, and the Exile still lives, and Lanik…_

Lirik shook his head to clear it of thoughts of his brotherand focused. The count wanted the Exile dead by any means. If he and Jude and Jaq could accomplish that, then perhaps their lord would be willing to overlook their other failures. _Or perhaps I should begin preparing myself for the Force shock now._

Lirik snorted in disgust at the thought, which drew the attention of the other two.

"What is it now, you great baby?" Jude complained.

"I hate to point out the terribly obvious, but the count has given us our orders. He wants the Exile dead."

Jude raised an eyebrow. "And your point?"

"Well, again, at the risk of seeming _obtuse_," he said distinctly, "I just would like to remind you that the Exile isn't _actually_ here to kill, because we haven't _actually_ sent out the message, because you two won't stop fooling around. See, until the Exile knows we're on Telos, she won't _actually_ come, and while you two undoubtedly will get a lot of smoking and fornicating accomplished, the small matter of the Exile still being _alive_ will still exist and the count will be very, very, very mad. Do you see what I am trying to tell you?"

Jude and Jaq regarded Lirik blankly for a minute before simultaneously bursting into laughter.

Lirik shook his head. "Why do I even bother?" he muttered. The only response was more laughter that echoed along the metallic walls of the Academy. But this time, the sounds of their mirth did not travel far before being snuffed out, as if all the air had been extracted from the room. The light seemed to dim and a horrible feeling of foreboding came over all three of them.

_Damn,_ Lirik thought, for he knew what had happened before he turned around and saw the three hooded figures standing behind them. _Those fools are going to get me killed._

Jude and Jaq's laughter, muted as Darth Tertius approached, was silenced altogether at the Sith Lord's arrival in their midst. Jude instantly dropped to her knees in a bow, Lirik and Jaq following after.

"My lord," Jude said, her head still down and her eyes on the ground. "How can we be of service to you?"

Darth Tertius' response was to raise three arms and send three streams of blue lightning coursing into each of them.

Lirik writhed on the cold, durasteel floor, thinking that his bones were going to melt and his muscles implode. His one consolation was that he could see that Jude and Jaq were suffering similarly and then he couldn't look anymore. He squeezed his eyes shut for he imagined them popping out of his head and he clenched his teeth to keep from biting his own tongue.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was likely no more than a minute, Darth Tertius relented.

"On your feet," said the center figure in hollow tones.

The three scrambled to standing as fast as their aching bodies would allow. Lirik spared a glance at Jude. Her expression was humble as she regarded the Dark Lord but Lirik could see a smoldering anger in her eyes. She prided herself on her efficiency and her control—to have been lax on both and been caught for it galled her terribly. Lirik's lips twitched in a small approximation of a smile, and then the Dark Lord was speaking.

"Make your report," commanded the center.

"We are completing a message to send to the Exile, my lord," Jude said and Lirik was impressed with the relative smoothness of her voice. His own throat felt like it had been twisted into a knot by the shock. "As per the plan."

"_Are you certain that is what you are doing?_" mused the left.

Jude frowned. "Yes, lord. It is. We—"

"**Because it would appear as though you are wasting valuable time!"** thundered the right and the Force shock came again, knocking them all to the ground.

_I told them this! _Lirik thought angrily, before the shock drove all rational thought from his mind. When the lightning relented, Lirik got to his feet quickly. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell the Sith Lord that he had been urging them to hurry but that they had ignored him…but Lirik did not. Looking at the three hooded figures, he suddenly realized it didn't matter what he said; the shock would come as would the anger, the retribution…the _pain_. There was always punishment in the life of the Sith, and a reward was merely a staying of that punishment. Lirik snapped his mouth shut and wished mightily he were somewhere else.

"Forgive us, lord," Jude said. "We—"

"Have forgotten what it is you have come to do," finished the center.

"_The attack on Coruscant was a failure. The count knows this."_

"**You have stolen from him!"**

"And he knows this as well, for I have informed him of the goings on here."

Jude went very pale and Lirik would have been jubilant at her defeat had his fate not been so tightly bound with hers. The woman made to open her mouth but Darth Tertius raised three hands.

"You are all three in terrible jeopardy," said the center placidly.

"_Only by killing the Exile have you hope of survival."_

"**You will kill her or you will die."**

_They are translating for one another, _Lirik thought and suppressed a crazy urge to laugh.

"Yes, lord. The Exile will come for Jaq," Jude said with a nod toward their newest compatriot.

Although none of Darth Tertius' three heads moved, it was instantly apparent that his attentions had turned to the assassin.

"**And when she comes here, you will end her**," stated the right.

"Yes, uh…yes, lord," Jaq muttered.

"There must be no mistakes," said the center.

"_No hesitation…"_

"**You will cut off her head and bring it to me,"** the right stated and even Lirik flinched at the finality of the command.

"If I have to do it myself, it will not be only the Exile's head that I present to the count," said the center.

_"And to ensure that my message is clear…"_

All three, Jaq, Jude and Lirik automatically looked to the right figure for his proclamation, but he said nothing. Instead, the three felt unseen hands close around their throats and begin to squeeze.

Lirik clawed at his neck as the cold energy choked the breath from him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jaq, his hands on his own throat, be lifted off the ground and fly backwards as if a strong wind had taken hold of him. He sailed through the air and crashed heavily into the rear wall of the chamber.

Yellow and green stars danced before Lirik's eyes and then it was his turn to be lifted through the air. He flew backwards and landed hard amidst a conference table ringed with chairs. One of the backs of the chair caught him in the ribs, and as he crashed down, the breath he had started to recapture was forced out of his body. He lay still on the floor, silently sucking in air, and watching Jude's fate.

Darth Tertius lifted the woman off the floor so that her feet dangled in midair.

"No more wasted time, yes?" the center asked in a quiet voice.

Jude, clutching fruitlessly at her neck, managed a nod and a gurgled response.

Darth Tertius nodded once, in a body, and then Jude was set down—rather gently, Lirik thought—on the ground. The look of relief on her face was quickly replaced by fear as the robed figure to the right drew his lightsaber and ignited the crimson blade.

"_No more wasted time,_" mused the left.

"**No more**," said the right and for the first time Lirik could remember since being in Darth Tertius' presence, the three did not act in perfect concert. The figure on the right stepped forward to stand before Jude who was quaking visibly. He raised the lightsaber and quickly, like a striking snake, touched it to Jude's neck.

The woman screamed an inhuman scream and fell away, clutching one side of her throat with her black-gloved hand.

"Next time, it will be your eyes," remarked the center, calmly, as his brethren resumed his position beside them.

"_And then your tongue," _added the left.

"**And then your head**," stated the right.

Then, the perfect unison of their movements restored, Darth Tertius left the chamber and returned to his own at the rear of the Academy.

The recording of the message went much faster after that.

It had been decided that, because of the bond with Dane, the less Jaq said the better. He merely knelt at Jude's feet, a vibrosword at his neck, looking properly defeated while the woman exhorted the Exile to come to Telos if she wished to save him, and to come alone.

"Do you think she'll comply?" Lirik mused, as the three lounged again, discussing the second phase of their plan and resting their aching bodies. He puffed on his own cigarra. He noticed, with interest, that Jaq hung back, lounging against the wall, keeping his distance from Jude as though being near her would bring down more pain from Darth Tertius. _Welcome back to the dark side, Jaq,_ Lirik thought dryly. Aloud he said, "Will she come alone, do you think?"

Jude shrugged. "She won't bring the Republic fleet, if that's what you mean."

"She'll bring that old coot Jolee," Jaq put in. "And maybe the kid."

"You mean Onasi's boy? He is blind," Lirik told him.

This seemed to perk Jaq up. "What a tragedy," the assassin laughed.

"It does not matter if the Exile decides to disobey me and bring an interloper or two," Jude said after a minute. "We still have more than twenty Sith to greet her. Upon arrival she is to be taken unarmed, straight to Jaq." Jude looked to him. "And you will waste no time in severing…the _bond _between you. Yes?"

Lirik saw Jaq's eyes darken. "That is hardly fun…over too quickly," he protested. "I have many tricks, long unused, I would like to put to practice." He smiled a crooked smile, warming to her ever so slightly. "Can't I play with her for a little bit first?"

Jude narrowed her eyes. "I suppose," she said slowly, "but Jaq," she said before he could speak, "the Exile must die. You saw what Darth Tertius…" her words trailed and she gingerly touched the shiny black burn on her neck. "I want nothing less than to be able to present to the count her head on a pike…and the count will accept nothing less than the same."

Jaq rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Leave the Exile to me, and the two of you can handle whoever is dumb enough to come with her."

Jude smiled wickedly. "Fair enough, but let me be there when you bring down the killing stroke. I want to see the look on her face when she sees that it will be you who ends her life."

Jaq's eyes glittered like a snake's and Lirik could practically feel his anticipation of the events to come radiating off him. Lirik looked away and took a long, slow drag off his cigarra as Jaq and Jude were drawn back together over the prospects of the terrible tortures and indignities they would level at the Exile upon her arrival. Lirik nearly opened his mouth to warn them that the Exile might not fall so willingly or easily into their trap, but he did not. Instead he stood up and went unnoticed back to his room.

The Void was there, following him about like a cold shadow. It was usually much more noticeable when alone, but now, as Lirik tossed himself on his little cot and laced his hands behind his head, a thousand thoughts lay between him and the Void…perplexing thoughts, the worst of which was an unpleasant feeling of pity for the Exile.

_Those two are monsters, _he thought, _and the Exile is going to walk right into their trap. _Lirik had felt the Exile's power and knew she was much stronger than either Jude or Jaq could comprehend, but Jude was right. Dane Koren would come for Atton and find only Jaq… and she would likely die for it.

Lirik stared up at the ceiling, listening to Jaq and Jude's laughter resume its ringing down the metallic hallways of the Academy and idly mused over what it would take to silence it. He wondered too, what Lanik would do if he were here.

He could imagine his brother laughing in his cool, collected manner along with Jude and Jaq—no doubt at Lirik's own expense. Lirik doubted his twin would have minded, even, that Jude took Jaq to her bed. Likely she would invite Lanik to join them rather than choose one man over the other. And Lanik would never have allowed the fooling around that brought Darth Tertius and his Force shock to them.

_No, Lanik would have shocked us himself,_ he thought. _Even me, though he would feel it. _

Lirik opened himself to the Void, testing its depth and weight. It was deep and so very heavy, and Lirik doubted he would ever get used to the interminable silence of it.

_Perhaps I should just let it go,_ Lirik thought. Jude certainly wasn't burdened by mourning for Lanik and Jaq wouldn't, had he known him. Darth Tertius was sitting in the back of the Academy with nothing close to human emotion touching any of his three faces or residing in any of his three hearts. He would not conceive of mourning the fallen dark Jedi.

But Lirik, who had loved his brother despite every indoctrination to the contrary, wept for him. He could, he knew, let the Void go and be rid of the burden of his grief. He could turn as cold and numb as everything else in these snowy regions in which the Sith stronghold lay. He could laugh with Jude and Jaq and bow before the glory of Darth Tertius. But Lirik—the memory of the painful shock still coursing over his skin, and the cutting laughter of Jaq and Jude—decided that he would hold on to the Void.

He suspected it was, despite the pain—or perhaps because of it—something valuable.

* * *

**Coruscant**

The funeral for Bastila Shan was held in the early morning, with a drizzle of rain misting the attendees, as though to remind them that the storm wasn't yet over. Three hundred people, most of them Republic soldiers stood silent in the mist, watching as the procession marched the Jedi Master's body down the street of Coruscant.

The Temple, what was left of it, had been chosen as the site of the funeral for it seemed appropriate. One half of the edifice was destroyed, the other half still stood. The dichotomy suited the situation, Dane Koren thought, for though the battle was over and the Sith driven away, the destruction had been done. The Temple was half-alive, just as the Jedi Order was half-alive. Dane, seated with the rest of the attendees in a chamber that had once been closed but was now rubble-strewn and open to the air, glanced about at her companions.

Jolee sat beside her, and the woman could feel the old man's heartache and loss. She also felt him begin to pull away from them, in spirit, if not in body. Bastila had been his only tie to the Order; the only real reason he had intended to come for the Council meeting was because of her.

"I suppose I'll go back to my hermit ways when this is all over," he had told Dane on the morose, near-silent journey from Dantooine to Coruscant. Dane had said nothing, but felt another crack appear among the Jedi; another gap pulling them apart.

Mical sat beside Juhani, his eyes straying to his master should she need him. His gaze was for her… but his thoughts were for Dane. Dane could feel his attention, like an old, familiar warmth that was as comforting as it was stifling. His feelings for her had not changed, that was clear, and where she had felt sympathy for him before, she now felt only irritation. Mical caught her looking at him and a hopeless, sweet smile touched his features. Dane quickly looked away, to Juhani.

The Exile had healed the Cathar until she was out of mortal danger and then Juhani had angrily pushed her away. Juhani was far from healthy—she had suffered a terrible concussion from the explosions at the Temple and the lightsaber scarring on her neck and arm would never go away. She was weak and prone to dizzy spells but found renewed strength whenever Dane tried to heal her further. Dane did not know what she had done to deserve Juhani's wrath, but the fiery woman refused to speak to her and cast dark, angry glances at Dane whenever their eyes met._ She blames me for Bastila's death_, Dane thought and as if she had said it aloud, the Cathar turned to her with a cold glance. Dane returned the blank stare with one of her own. _I have nothing to offer you_, she told the woman silently and Juhani, with an almost audible growl, looked away.

A ways behind her, Dustil Onasi sat with Mission under an arch that was blackened with scorch marks and fire licks. He could not see the procession, nor the bier upon which the pallbearers would set Bastila's body upon, but held Mission's hand tightly, as though he would come adrift in the darkness without her flesh and bone to hold him down. He was a blind Jedi relying on a non-Force sensitive to be his eyes, his connection to the waking world. On his other side sat Visas Marr. Mission didn't look at all pleased at that arrangement and as Dane watched, the Twi'lek scowled as Visas leaned in to Dustil to murmur something in his ear.

_What a mess,_ Dane thought and wondered what kind of Order was going to arise from this, their tangled collection of broken Jedi. _Juhani wounded and angry, Dustil blind, Jolee drifting away, Mical unfocused, and me…I'm the worst of them all._

But Dane's eyes went to Visas again and she felt hope. Visas, who had surprised and pleased her with her appearance on Coruscant. Visas who no longer greeted Dane with the subservient, "My life for yours," but was quietly self-assured and radiated a serenity Dane could only hope to possess one day.

_Perhaps she will make something of this Council. We can only hope…_

Dane turned her attentions away from her companions as the funeral procession entered the chamber. All of her ire and anxiety fled, and Dane was filled shock all over again at the sight of Bastila Shan lying dead upon the bier. It was the same shock that Dane had felt on the Ebon Hawk when the Jedi Master's body was discovered lying atop the headless corpse of Lanik Thrakill—shock that the powerful woman could be suddenly taken from them.

_Lanik Thrakill_, Dane thought. She waited for the anger or shame to come but there was nothing. She felt numb. _Lanik and of course, his brother Lirik. Under my nose the whole time and me too blind…_ A tally of all the death and pain wrought by the Thrakills' treachery began to form in her mind but she swiftly buried it and looked at Bastila, lying as though asleep.

_I hardly knew her, but I feel her absence keenly. Perhaps it is through the Force_… Dane pressed her lips together and turned to watch as the funeral began.

Carth Onasi was one of six men who carried the bier upon which Bastila lay. They set the Jedi Master down in the center of the room and stepped aside, but for Carth, who was to preside over the ceremony. It would be the first of two the Admiral would oversee. The second would be that of the Republic soldiers who had given their lives in the battle against the Sith. The first would be for his friend.

"There may be raised in your minds," Carth began to those assembled, "a question as to the kind of legacy Bastila Shan is leaving behind. We stand in the ruins of a Jedi Temple, her Temple, and we see the remnants of the battle that eventually took her life. But don't think for one second, that this—" Carth gestured around, "—is the culmination of her efforts. Bastila's legacy is not in this collection of broken stone and steel. Nor is it even her triumphs during the Jedi Civil War, or her heroism in the destruction of the Star Forge. She is not the sum-total of history's dramatic events, and I will not remember her as such—as only a notable name in the game we played for our future.

"But perhaps that is all we will have of her. Bastila was not one for idle chatter or talk. She didn't speak often of herself or her talents or graces, but revealed them in the quality of her life. Her distinction and integrity were not the medals bestowed on her for all to see, but evident in the dignity and honor she sought to infuse in even the smallest of tasks.

"I'm not going to regale you with my memories of her, and what kind of friend she was, of what she meant to me. Those memories are mine to keep, just as you have your own, but to say she was the kind of friend whose loyalty…" Carth bowed his head for a moment and then began again, "…whose loyalty and love is so total and complete, you almost forget that she is there until one day she isn't. Honor your friends as they honor you and remember them always. Of all the legacies Bastila could have wanted to leave, I know that one—one of friendship and love and honor—would be the legacy she would have been proudest to leave behind."

Carth turned to look at the bier and the body lying upon it. "You succeeded, my friend. May the Force be with you always."

Dane bowed her head but no tears came to her eyes. She mourned Bastila but could not weep for her. _What is wrong with me? I can't feel anything anymore, _she thought. She glanced at Juhani and saw the Cathar sobbing into her hand while Mical patted her on the shoulder. Dane looked away quickly, for she knew Juhani would not take kindly to her witnessing her grief.

Others spoke of Bastila but Dane did not hear them. Carth had been succinct enough and her thoughts went to Atton. He wasn't dead—she could feel his life pulse through their bond, however weak that bond was. She hadn't realistically hoped to see him waiting for her on Coruscant when they returned either, but she had thought there might be some evidence as to his whereabouts. Dane thought it likely the Sith had captured him; his descent into darkness might have made him valuable in their eyes. Dane shivered at the thought of Atton in the custody of that Sith Lord…and then the funeral was over, jarring her from her thoughts.

_The Force will lead me to him, _she thought. _I must have faith in the Force. _

The attendees started to file out and Dane rose to do the same.

"That was well-spoken," she told Carth. "I think she would have been touched."

Carth nodded and Dane saw he regarded her with a peculiar glance. She knew she seemed cool and hard, and it surprised him, but he was also looking at her with something akin to pity. Mission, with Dustil on her arm, appeared beside Carth and regarded Dane with almost the exact same expression.

"What is it?" Dane asked. _Gods, now what? No more…_

"We are about to load the fallen Republic soldiers onto the ship for their service in space," Carth said slowly.

Dane nodded. "Yes, as custom," she said. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Mission's eyes began to fill with tears and she took Dane's hand.

"Follow me," Carth said quietly and they began to walk.

* * *

They had exchanged his battle-worn clothes with a crisp, white Republic dress uniform. His thin beard had been neatly trimmed, his hair combed, and the dirt and soot washed from his face. His blue eyes were closed and his gloved hands were clasped neatly together at his midsection. 

"I don't know why," Dane said softly, "but I think he would have chuckled over the gloves." She glanced at Mission, Dustil and Carth standing beside her. "But the rest he would have truly been proud of." She smiled wanly.

He was lying in the same type of coffin as used by the Republic—plain with a glass covering. At the head of the casket was engraved his name. Dane knelt beside it and ran her hand over the lettering.

"Macen Zachariah Vorn," she murmured. "Zachariah…I never knew…"

"He was a good man," Dustil said, his handsome face turned to Dane and his liquid brown eyes sought hers but failed to connect. "I liked him instantly," he said with a warm smile.

"Me too," Dane said with a rueful smile. "He made it so easy."

"I didn't know he was a soldier," Mission said in a small voice to fill an awkward silence.

"He fought bravely and deserves to be honored for it," Carth said.

Dane's vision was suddenly blurred and she felt the strength go out of her knees. The numbness that had encased her protectively fell away and she wept for her friend. She felt Carth's arms go around her but she pulled away and laid her hands over the glass of the coffin.

"Why? Why did he come here? I told him to stay away… I told him it was dangerous," Dane said. "I told him… Macen..." she cried and covered her eyes with one hand. And then a thought occurred to her, filtering in past her grief. She looked around at Carth. "How did you know his middle name? Did you speak to him?"

Carth nodded slowly.

Dane wiped her eyes and stepped towards him. "Why did he come here, Carth?" she asked, her voice low and tremulous. Carth appeared reluctant to speak but Dane pressed closer. "Why was he here? Did he come for me? Did he?"

Carth hesitated a moment longer and then nodded his head. "Yeah, he came for you," he said quietly.

Dane held Carth's eyes a moment more and then turned away. She looked down at the coffin and traced her finger over the glass, along the line of Macen's jaw. "Leave me alone for a minute," she said.

Carth paused and then sighed. "Sure thing. Come on," he said to Mission and Dustil, and the three moved away, down the street.

Dane waited until they were gone and then sat down beside the coffin. Republic soldiers were activating the small repulsor-lift devices on the other caskets and loading them onto a ship. Dane knew she had very little time before they would take him away. She turned so that her back was against the casket, and pulled her knees up to her chest. She closed her eyes and could almost imagine the hum of the energy field beside her and the hum of the barge's engines below her. But there was no gentle voice, no "Hey," to greet her. Instead she felt another presence.

_"Bao-Dur?"_

"_Yes, General?"_

_"Will you…take care of him? Him and Bastila both…"_

_"There's no need, General. They're fine. They're both just fine."_

Dane nodded and tears slid down her cheeks from under her closed eyes.

_"Can you see him, Bao-Dur?"_

_"Sometimes. He's watching you too."_

Dane smiled tremulously. _"How does he look, Bao-Dur?"_

_"Happy, General. He looks happy."_

Dane covered her face in her hands and sat for a long time beside Macen while the soldiers worked around her. After a time, there were none left but Macen so the soldiers took him away.

Dane watched as the ship was loaded and lifted off into clear, late-morning sky. She smiled and raised her hand to it as it streaked across that sky, the sun turning the silver ship into a ribbon of shining golden light against the brilliant blue. Dane watched it grow smaller and smaller, until it became a pinpoint of light, like a star, before winking out so very quickly.

* * *

**Author's note:** Woo, short, huh? (Comparatively speaking).Well, actually, I did--as is my want--write nearly thirty dang pages but this chapter has given me no end of trouble so I have, on some good advice, chopped it in half so that I might repair the second portion.This shouldn't take too long and you shouldn't expect such a long delay between updates. Perhaps Saturday at the latest. 

I must thank my beta-reader, **Miss Becky**, for her insight and more importantly, for her friendship and support. You make the process of writing a joy, my dear. And to **Bald as Malak** who is largely responsible for saving me from making a big mistake, and for his incredible thoughtfulness and intelligence. Thanks to you both.

And because I am very tired and have an important interview at work tomorrow, I am not going to do replies to reviewers now, I'll do them when I post the second half of this chap. But I am overwhelmed by the responses I have received from this fic from all of you. I can't tell you how much it means to me. And since I can't do it anywhere else, I must thank you all too, for your generous and kind words about The Night She Left. I really am speechless. You all make me strive to be a better writer, so thank you.

Up next: A rather bumpy Council meeting and Dane gets some good news..finally!

Love ya!

--Trillian


	39. The Exile

**Chapter 39**

**The Exile**

Dane walked slowly back into the Jedi Temple where the remains of the Jedi Order were to hold their first Council. As she did, the verses of the Code came to her and she repeated them in her mind over and over again, trying to find a measure of peace in the words. Instead all she could see was Macen and Bastila lying on their biers and Atton's last wink and smile before she left him.

The others were already gathered in one of the few completely intact meeting rooms left in the Temple. Dane took her seat in one of the chairs that had been set up in a ring. Visas was to her right and Mical to her left. On the other side of Visas sat Dustil, with Mission beside him. Jolee and Juhani completed the circle.

There was a silence and then Dane realized the others were waiting for her to speak.

She cleared her throat and tried to do the same for her mind, but the thought that she didn't belong here, that she had to find Atton, that her place was with Revan, kept intruding into her thoughts.

"I…I'm not certain where we should begin," Dane said. "I believe—"

"I am honored that you deigned to show up at all," spat Juhani, and it was clear she had been waiting for the Exile to speak only so that she might cut her off. "I had thought you would be too eager to chase after your pilot to spare us the time."

Dane stiffened and held her head straight. "I _am_ eager to find him," she said, "that is true. I have dragged him down a dark path and cannot now leave him to find his way back alone. But—"

"You cannot keep from giving in to your lust and carnal urges, you mean," Juhani snarled, garnering a mild outburst from those that were assembled, but for Visas who sat silent, watching.

"It is true!" Juhani protested. She rose unsteadily to her feet and stood before the Council, leaning heavily on a cane she had taken to support her. "You have made a mockery and a sham out of the Jedi Code and yet you would profess to lead us."

"I profess nothing," Dane returned. "I—"

"And it is fitting that it would be you!" Juhani cried. "It is _fitting_ that this would be the council you lead, for this _Council_ is a sham."

"And here I thought this was going to be a boring meeting," Jolee said, leaning forward in his chair. His words were accompanied by a dry chuckle but his eyes were dark as they followed the Cathar.

Juhani ignored him. She gestured around the room and its few occupants with her stick, and then jabbed it in the air towards those she spoke of in turn. "A Council is of Jedi Masters only and here we have a blind Padawan and his _lover_, who is not only not a Jedi Master herself, but not even a Jedi!"

"Hey!" Mission complained but Dustil silenced her with a hand on her arm.

Juhani continued as though she hadn't heard. "And here," she pointed at Mical, "we have another Padawan who moons over you blatantly and without modesty. And you," she turned back to Dane, "whose violation of the Code transcends all boundaries of decency…And here," she pointed at Jolee, "your mentor who sanctions it, and here," her cane went to Visas, "an ex-Sith!" The Cathar left her stick aimed accusingly at the Miraluka for a moment before dropping it so that she might lean upon it and catch her breath. She turned her feline eyes to Dane. "There is your Council, Exile, and it was convened cleverly too, for it should have been Bastila's, shouldn't it? But fortunately for you, she is dead and now there are none who oppose you."

Dane closed her eyes at the accusation but did not defend herself. She felt as if she were watching some terrible holovid—unable to act and yet unable to tear her eyes away either.

"You go too far, Juhani," Jolee warned. "A little less _passion_ and a lot more _serenity_ might do you some good. Bastila wouldn't stand for this kind of talk and neither do I."

Juhani narrowed her eyes at the old man. "Don't pretend to care, Jolee, the outcome of this meeting. You're a gray. You've always been a gray and you always will be."

"Aye, as gray as the hairs on my head, or what's left of them. But if you think that means I don't care, you're crazier than I am."

"Crazy, yes, certainly." Juhani muttered before bursting out, "This whole Council has gone mad. Am I the only one who sees it?"

"Master Juhani, please," Dustil pleaded. He leaned forward but seemed loathe to leave his chair, as if frightened to step into the black alone.

Mical joined in exhorting the Cathar who made a biting remark, and after a time, Mission added her piping voice to the tumult.

Dane watched the meeting degenerate into a shouting match. She hadn't the energy or the will to do anything about it but sit dumbly and listen as the Jedi, young and old, tore the air with their voices raised in anger. _This could be the end. _The general in her urged her to take a stand and try to bring order but she did not. _It is not my place…_she thought and that's when Visas Marr stood up.

Quiet descended instantly and Juhani even resumed her seat without being asked as the Miraluka stepped forward. It was as if she had generated a wave of warm, Force energy and had cast it over the group, pressing Juhani back into her seat and quieting the angry voices.

"This is how it shall be," said Visas, and each person in the room felt the towering authority in her slight form.

"I feel and sense much anger here," Visas began, "and I tell you all that the enemy that deserves our enmity is not in this room. There is none here who carry the blame for Bastila's death. This must be clear before we can move on, for to have such an accusation will linger like a slow poison, infect us and undo us. The Jedi Order—and Bastila herself—was betrayed by the Sith and that is where the blame must rest. Are there any who, when looking at the facts of the last few days with a clear mind, one free of emotion and grief, doubt this is true?"

All eyes went to Juhani. The Cathar stared back defiantly for a moment before her grief undid her. She sobbed into her hands. "I am s-sorry," she cried. She looked around and the group assembled, but for Dane, with pleading eyes. "Forgive me…I miss her," she said. Mical leaned over to take her hand and she smile gratefully at him. Visas nodded.

"Then that is done," said the Miraluka. "Secondly, there is the matter of this Council and how it shall proceed, how it shall deal with the Code, and how it shall be governed. I see much with the Force but I cannot see the winding path to the future because we have not yet paved it. It shall be up to us—to everyone in this room, to forge once more, the Jedi Council."

Visas' back was to Dane as she spoke these last words and the Exile felt acutely that the Miraluka had positioned herself so for a reason. But before she could ponder it further, Visas continued.

"Mission is no Jedi, that is true, but she represents every sentient being in the galaxy who depend on us for their justice and their peace. The Councils of old forgot that. Now, she leads a blind Jedi, showing him the world through her eyes. True, he is no Master, but he someday he shall wear that mantle and when he does, what the Twi'lek has shown him will be of great service to this Council. She will not sit upon it, but she will not be turned away either so long as he needs her." Visas turned to Dustil. "And know this, Padawan, I shall help you see as well…see as I do. You consider yourself blind…you were already so. It is with the Force that a Jedi truly possesses vision."

Dustil smiled and it seemed a touch of his helplessness eased for he sat up straighter and did not appear so bound to the safety of his chair.

"And what of their relationship?" Juhani demanded, though in a quieter tone. "Is this Council prepared to ignore the Code and allow the two of them to continue…as they are?"

Mission sat up ramrod straight and Dane could see her waiting with extreme apprehension for Visas next words.

"It remains to be seen," the Miraluka said finally. "That is a discussion for another time, for there is a lot of new ground to be broken, but it cannot all be done this day."

Mission eased and Juhani sat back in her chair. _How quickly they have come to take Visas' word for law,_ Dane mused and then the Miraluka was continuing.

Visas turned to Mical. "Your youth and dedication will serve us well, as will your loyalties once they are correctly directed. Give up your passionate love of what you cannot have. Let it be the deep and warm love of friendship for it is only in friendship that your love shall be rewarded. Do you see?"

Mical nodded and a small, almost relieved smile came over his features. He looked to Dane and she nodded her head in return, as an unspoken agreement passed between them. Visas turned to Jolee.

"I do not know you, Master Jolee, and I feel after this day, you will be gone from us. While this Council would benefit from your wisdom and experience, I cannot ask that you stay. There are some Jedi who serve best without ties and without community. I only ask, Master Jolee, that you never feel the urge to stop serving. You are Jedi and that responsibility is yours so long as the Force animates your body, and you will always be welcome here. Do you see?"

"Aye, missy," Jolee muttered. "I see."

A small smile touched Visas' lips and she turned to Juhani.

"You are passionate and strong-willed, Master Juhani. I do not fear your dark past as you do, but I would ask that you not let your defense of the Code grow so passionate that it becomes a mockery of it. I don't know who is to say that a Jedi cannot love. I doubt even that the Code forbids such a thing. I believe we are not alive if we have no emotions and that the authors of the Code were not forbidding them, but putting them in their proper order of importance. Peace is more important than emotions. Serenity is more important than passion, and the Force is more important than death. Does that mean death does not exist? Of course not. It is a part of life, just as our passions and emotions are. It is only when we forget the hierarchy, do we fall into trouble."

"The Code says there are _no _emotions, _no _passion, _no _death. It does not speak of hierarchies and importances," Juhani put in.

"Yes, but is that true, Juhani? Are you animated with emotion, even now as we speak, or are you hollow inside? Each person here is experiencing emotions…"

"But only one of us is at peace," Mical put in, "and that is you."

The assemblage saw the truth of the Disciple's words and Dane marveled for she saw, in Visas, the embodiment of the Code like she had never seen it before. _She is a true Master, _Dane thought and any question as to why the others would defer to the slight woman were laid to rest.

Juhani must have seen the Code in the Miraluka too, for she silenced her next, harsh words and sat back in her chair, a contemplative expression on her feline features.

Visas nodded. "The Code is written as a mantra, in the simplest terms, so that we will not forget. Or so that is how I see it. However, I would wish always for the opinions of others to be plainly heard. I look forward to sharing this Council with you, Juhani. Your good intentions and your observations will do more, I think, to preserve us, than any other."

Juhani nodded, though her expression had grown dark again. It was clear she did not agree with everything the Miraluka had said, but there was an affinity between the two women and Dane thought that was a good enough start.

"However, I have not the authority, as I stand here on this new day, to undo what years of wiser Jedi than I have brought forth to pass," Visas continued. "As we progress together, this Council may decide things that perhaps will undo or alter what has come before. But not today."

And then Visas turned to the Exile and though Dane thought she knew what was coming, her stomach tightened anyway. She sat up straight, however, wanting to confront the Miraluka's decree bravely.

"You know what I am about to say," Visas began, her voice soft. "I am sorry, my friend, but for all I have spoken of the Code, there are limits to what it will and will not support. You know this is to be the way," Visas said to Dane. "You are the Exile, and so you shall remain. Your path is not one we can follow, nor is it one we can sanction. The past guides us even if it does not bind us, and by that token, I must ask you to leave this Council. You will not hold a seat upon it, now or ever."

There came a gasp—from Mission, Dane thought, but she hardly heard it. Jolee began to angrily grumble and Juhani added a quiet exclamation of approval.

"But why?" Mission demanded. "She hasn't done anything wrong! You said so yourself, in the beginning. It wasn't her fault the Sith came! She—"

Visas held up her hand for silence. The Twi'lek subsided into reluctant quiet and sat back in her chair.

"The reasons are few but potent," Visas said.

Dane nodded. "It is because I have transgressed against the Code…with him," she said quietly. "For that, I am sorry, but…"

"That is a partial truth," Visas said. "Your love for Atton Rand and his for you is not merely a matter of breaking the Code. It is not so simple as that. The wound in you is not yet healed and Atton is as bound to its recovery as you are. He is a part of its resolution, his fate is entwined to yours."

"Well, I don't get it," Mission declared, crossing her arms over her small breasts. "Why does she have to go? Is it because of Atton or not? Because if it is, that's stupid, you know? It's not too late to save him…"

Again, the Miraluka held up a hand to silence the Twi'lek, but she wore a soft smile as she looked to Dane. "To be plain," Visas said, "Dane Koren is henceforth exiled because the path she is about to walk and the destiny that is hers, are not those of a Jedi."

There was another small outburst and Dane flinched, the words stinging her. But she heard something behind the Miraluka's words—something the woman was not saying.

Visas nodded slowly, once. "It is not for me to say at this time," was all she said and Dane knew it would be futile to push the point.

The Exile nodded, her expression grim. "Very well, I accept the edicts of this Council," she said, and while she agreed with Visas that her place was not here, she couldn't help feel a twinge of the bitterness and resentment she felt the first time a Jedi Council had decreed her to be an outcast. _Ironic that I, a Jedi and the one responsible for healing the wound in the Force, must do so without the sanction of the ruling body of Jedi. I am to be exiled, not for what I have done, but for what has not yet come to pass. _Another thought, a more frightening one, came to her and she looked sharply to Visas.

"You will not take the Force from me?" she asked, though it was more of a statement than a question. She had tried to keep the threatening tone out of her voice but only barely succeeded.

Visas shook her head, "No, we will not. I doubt any of us possess the strength to do it, but even if we could, it is not our place. The Force is a part of the path you walk, the path that we cannot sanction. I understand you have learned to use it for powerful healing; that is your destiny. The wound demands restoration and relief; that is your destiny. The bond you have with Atton was forged for a purpose…"

Again, Dane felt a deeper meaning behind Visas' words, but the Miraluka continued.

"He is your destiny. It is not our place to alter or stop what the Force has put in motion."

"Wait a moment," Juhani cut in. "That's it? She is allowed to leave as…what? A renegade? A Jedi with no Order, who answers to no authority?"

Visas made to reply but Jolee cut in. "Aye, that seems to be the way of it."

"Why are you so afraid of her?" Mission demanded. "She's not _evil…"_

The Council seemed likely to degenerate into shouting again but for Visas restoring the calm, but Dane was lost in her own thoughts…and then Carth Onasi stepped into the room. Dane felt her bitterness for being made the Exile again dissolve for she somehow knew what Carth would say.

"Sorry to interrupt," said the Admiral. His eyes scanned the room until they met Dane's. "There's a message from the Sith. They have him."

_Atton, my love…Visas was right to expel me, for you are first in my thoughts, always, _she thought. Right or wrong, Atton came first and so when she left the room and the newly forged hope for the Jedi Order behind, Dane was not afraid…until she saw the message.

* * *

The message was in standard blue imagery—grainy and small. But Dane saw Atton's face clearly, and her heart ached at the sight. He said nothing, gave no outward show of emotion or evidence to indicate where his soul lay on the spectrum of light or dark, but yet there was no doubting his fall had been made complete. 

Dane could see it in his eyes that were cold and glittery, even cast humbly down to the ground as they were. His fair skin was marred with darker, shadowy lines that trailed down to his cheekbones from under those eyes, as though he were scarred somehow. Those lines gave his boyishly handsome face a sinister caste, as if the Sith had decided to mark him physically as one of their own. He knelt beside a cold and cunning woman who held a vibrosword to his throat as she threatened his life, but he appeared not the least bit afraid. And just as the message came to its conclusion, Atton, who had heretofore kept his eyes mutely cast downward, suddenly looked directly into the holocamera. Dane shivered at the chilling look and the tiniest trace of a crooked smile that touched his lips, for she knew Atton was looking right at her.

"Shut it off," she said, and rubbed her arms with both hands. She was standing in the hold of the _Ebon Hawk, _with Carth and Jolee who had seemed to take her exile as a sign of his own freedom, and Mission to lend her support. They were gathered around T3-M4.

"What are you going to do?" the Twi'lek asked, her eyes wide.

"Go, of course," Dane said simply. She felt suddenly nauseous for fear—both for herself and Atton—and she sat down on one of the chairs in the hold.

"Now hold on just a minute," Jolee said. "Can you see, dear, that Atton is…well," he ran a hand over his balding pate. "He's not himself, if you catch my meaning."

"He's fallen completely to the dark side," Dane said hollowly. "I know, I could see it."

"That means that all this 'come alone' business is a trap, you see."

Dane nodded. "Yes, I see, but that doesn't change anything."

"Now, right about here is where I start complaining," Jolee said.

"As do I," Carth put in. "The Sith are on Telos," he began. "You know I cannot allow that. The restoration project is just beginning to grow stable and even if it weren't there, I cannot possibly allow the Sith to set up a stronghold on my planet, or any planet…not when I can do something about it. And it is my _duty_ to do something about it."

"I know but Carth, please," Dane said, suddenly feeling tired. "I have to be able to get in and get Atton out. I need time."

"I can't do it, Dane," Carth said. "The risk is far too great. I'm sorry, but if you go, you go with at least a platoon of Republic soldiers and they go to clean them out."

"If we do that, then Atton's life is forfeit," Dane said, an edge to her tone. "No matter that he is Sith or not, they will not hesitate to kill him. It is their only collateral against the very attack you propose."

Carth's kind face softened and his voice was quiet as he said, "I know what he means to you, really, and I'm sorry, but my hands are tied. It is simply too dangerous. And not just for the TSF station either, but for you too. That three-headed Sith Lord is there and you think you can take him alone? It's suicide, Dane, and you know it."

_He is right, it is dangerous, but I have to make him see, _she thought and her anger fled at the worry and care in his rich brown eyes. She rose from her seat and laid her hand on his arm. "My friend, I know you are duty-bound and I will not ask what you cannot give."

"Then what _are _you asking for?"

"A twenty-four hour head start," Dane replied. "Please, give me that much time. They will kill him if I disobey their demand. Please. Twenty-four hours."

Carth ran a hand through his hair in agitation and looked at her. "Twenty-four hours?"

Dane nodded. "Enough time for me to get there, get Atton out, and then I'll leave the rest to you. With any luck at all, I can do it quickly and avoid the Sith Lord altogether." _How this is supposed to occur, I have no idea, _Dane thought but was careful to keep the doubt from showing on her face.

Carth wore his own dubious expression but he finally sighed and said, "All right, twenty-four hours and that's it. Then I send the armada after you."

"Thank you, Carth," Dane said.

"Yeah, well," the Admiral grumbled. "Don't say a damn word or it's my head, you got me? Fleet finds out I knew about the threat for even a minute and they'll have my commission. And I'm not too thrilled about you going in alone either."

"Don't worry, she's not," put in Jolee.

They both looked around at him.

The old Jedi held up his hand before Dane could say a word. "Now I am not going to stand for one word of protest. I am going with you on this fool caper and that's all there is to it. You heard that little hooded woman in there," he said. "She said my path isn't one that involves me loafing around here, analyzing a bunch of sentences some very dead Jedi thought up one rainy afternoon. I'm going with you and I'm not going to hear another word to the contrary. 'Avoid the Sith Lord,'" Jolee snorted. "Sure, and I'm an exotic dancer on a Hutt's pleasure barge. Not to mention, that Atton can be a pain in the ass and a lot to handle… you'll need all the help you can get and those blasted Sith aren't going to pay any mind to a tired old Jedi like me who…" Jolee peered at Dane who was smiling at him. "I'm done now, aren't I?"

Dane smiled. "Yes, you are. I realize I cannot do this solely on my own."

"Well, why in blazes did you let me ramble on?" Jolee demanded.

"I'll come too," Mission piped up boldly, though her face looked slightly more green than blue. "I-I want to help."

"_No,_" Dane, Carth and Jolee said in unison.

Mission flinched but recovered quickly and put her hands on her hips. "Well, why not? You're going to need all the help I can get."

"Your place is here, with Dustil," Dane said gently, "but thank you, Mission. You are a true friend."

Mission grumbled under her breath but there was no mistaking the relief that radiated off her.

"I'd still feel better if you'd take at least a squad with you," Carth said a moment later.

"I can't risk it," Dane said.

"No, but you know who you _can_ risk?" Jolee offered.

"Who?"

* * *

"Bemused Statement: Well, well, well, if it isn't my old master," HK-47 intoned snidely. "Forlorn Declaration: And here I was, all this time, broken down and rusting in the rain, thinking that you had forgotten me." 

Dane suppressed a smile. She, Carth, Jolee and the droid were at the Fleet Head Quarters where the hunter-killer unit had been sent for repairs after Mission had discovered him standing in the street, sparking and silent.

"No, I haven't forgotten you, HK," Dane said. "Quite the contrary."

The droid jerkily glanced about. "Query: And where has Master Jaq gotten to?"

"That is why we need your help," Dane said and briefly explained their mission.

"Observation: I am not surprised in the least. It was only when my operations were compromised and my ability to protect him sabotaged, did he manage to get himself kidnapped. Resigned Statement: Very well. Since it is abundantly clear that none of you meatbags are able to function without my assistance, I agree to join you on this little quest to bring back Master Jaq."

"As if you have a choice," Jolee muttered.

"Optimistic Clarification: My advanced processing systems have deduced that your primary motivation for utilizing my services is likely because there shall be battle and extermination of those who have absconded with Master Jaq. Delighted Acquiescence: At your service, Master."

Jolee rolled his eyes. "Is it too late for me to change my mind?"

* * *

The goodbyes were short and quick. The Council, but for Dustil who had retreated to rest, had gathered on the docking bay before the _Ebon Hawk. _Deke Targan, whom Carth had entrusted with piloting the small party to Telos, waited at the ramp. Mission hugged the Exile. 

Mission's lower lip trembled. "Hurry back," she sniffed. Dane hugged her again and then turned to Visas.

"Thank you, my friend," Dane said. "I admit, there was a moment there when I felt betrayed by your edicts. But I see now, they are good and true, as you are."

"And there was a long moment in which I hesitated in making them," Visas said quietly. "But the Force reveals much, and in the end, it was not up to me."

Dane again, felt that there was something the Miraluka was not saying but she managed to find comfort in the secrecy. _Visas seems content that whatever she sees can wait. I must take that as a good sign that I will return to hear it, _she thought, and embraced the small woman. "I worried about the Council, but no longer. It is in good hands."

Visas smiled. "Good luck, my friend. And may the Force be with you."

Then it was Mical's turn to embrace her. Dane let herself meld into his embrace for she hadn't, with everything that had occurred, been able to enjoy his friendship. And she could feel that was all that he was offering her now and she was glad for it.

"Good luck," the Disciple said, smiling warmly. "I so would like to accompany you—for your safety of course—but also that Sith Lord is quite the curiosity. Alas, that is not to be, I'm afraid. Therefore, I should like to hear more about it, once you have returned victorious from your pursuits."

Dane smiled and nodded, and the two friends shared a glance that spoke much and then she turned away.

Juhani, leaning heavily on her cane, nodded once, curtly at Dane. There was no love lost between the two women, but Dane could not feel enmity toward the other. _She is only doing as she feels is right…as I am. _The Exile returned the nod and then she, Jolee, HK-47 and Carth walked to the _Hawk. _Carth pulled her aside before they could board. Dane could feel his unease and she felt a pang of guilt for pressuring him into such a bad position.

"Okay, so you have twenty-four hours, and then I'm coming for you."

Dane smiled at his choice of words. "Thank you, Carth. You make me feel safe."

"Safe?" he snorted. "I wish I could convince you to take more men," he persisted. "That three-headed _thing _is there. I don't like the idea of you fighting it alone."

"I'm not alone," Dane said placidly.

Carth ran a hand through his hair. "Dammit, Dane, just be careful, okay?"

"Carth, it will be all right," Dane said. She caught his gaze and held it. "I know what I am about to do is dangerous and I harbor no illusions that it will be anything less than traumatic and difficult. But it must be done. I have faith that the Force will protect me and that I will bring Atton back."

"Yeah, but the guy doesn't exactly look like he's going to go willingly. You're going to have a fight on your hands every step of the way."

Dane nodded. "It is what it is and I have done my part to create it. I never listened to Atton when he spoke about his past. He told me, of course, what he was…what he had done. And I loved him so much, even then, that I had to believe he had overcome it; that he was going to be a Jedi and his past would stay forever dead. But it isn't, that is obvious. So I must finish what he and I have started. I will not leave him to battle his way back to the light by himself."

"How do you know that is a battle he even wants to fight?" Carth asked quietly.

"Because I am bonded to him. He thinks he is Jaq Rand, the Jedi killer, who became Atton for a time, but is now restored to his true self. But I know that is not true." She smiled up at him. "Jaq and Atton are only names. The true soul that is him is good, I can feel it."

Carth frowned and she could feel his anxiety again—and not just for her safety. She looked up at him. "It's time for me to go. Thank you, Carth." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "You are a good friend."

>>>>>>

_Yeah, I'm a good friend all right. A good friend who needs to get his head examined, _Carth thought and watched as Dane boarded the _Ebon Hawk_ with Jolee and the droid. She turned a final time, to wave goodbye, before disappearing into the dark confines of the ship. He pulled Deke Targan aside.

"The instant you touch down on Telos, I want to know about it," he ordered.

Deke nodded. "Yes, sir."

"And if you can give me a report on the Sith numbers…"

"Yes, sir."

"And tactical contingencies I may need to know about…"

"Yes, sir."

"We're going to pull an air strike on the damn place once Dane and the others get out. Keep me up on who's where so we don't lose anyone to friendly fire, you got me?"

"Of course, sir."

"And Deke," Carth said as the lieutenant made to board the ship. "Watch out for them, will you?"  
"I shall do my best, sir," the young officer said and saluted.

Carth watched as the _Ebon Hawk _lifted off into the clear afternoon skies. The feeling of worry twisted and grew larger in his gut as the ship streaked out of the sky and vanished. It was bad enough he was allowing the Sith to ensconce themselves on his home planet and so close to the TSF station. But there was something else that bothered him—a feeling as though he were making a terrible mistake.

Carth looked at the patch of sky that the _Ebon Hawk _had shot out of long after the freighter was gone. "This whole thing isn't right," he muttered and then began walking back toward the Fleet Head Quarters.

By the time he had reached his office, the feeling that he had made a horrible mistake in letting Dane and Jolee go alone came over him again so strongly, he had to fight a crazy urge to run back to the docking bay to try to stop the _Hawk, _knowing it was long gone.

Instead, Carth marched into his office and began punching orders into his console. That done, he changed from his Admiral's dress uniform worn for Bastila's funeral into his flight suit, and holstered his blasters.

He glanced outside his office viewports. Already he could see his men scrambling to action in conjunction with his orders. Carth liked to think he was a man of his word… _But I have to do what's best for the greater good, _he thought.

"Sorry, Dane, but it's for your own good too," he muttered. "I just know it."

* * *

_**Author's notes:** This chapter has caused me no end of grief but I was finally able to beat into submission and some kind of shape I can live with. Hope you liked it. _

_Replies to reviewers may go up tonight, or perhaps check back tomorrow on my homepage. I'm a bit peaked and may decide to take the rest of the night off. :) That doesn't mean you each don't deserve a huge thank you and my appreciation. I'm so grateful to and for all of you._

_Up next: The reunion of our star-crossed lovers and the rapidly encroaching end which--surprise, surprise--will NOT be the next chapter. I tried for forty, it'll likely beforty-five. Shocking, I know. ;)_

_Thanks again!_


	40. When Jaq met Dane

**A/N: Sorry this was so long in the coming. Special thanks to my beta-readers: Miss Becky who ensures my sentences don't run on and on and on...and for her friendship; and Bald as Malak without whom thischapter would have, in a nutshell, sucked. Thank you both, I don't know what I'd do without you. **

**Disclaimers: Don't own it, nomoney made, am sad. **

**Warning: One f-bomb if anyone's counting. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 40 **

**When Jaq met Dane**

**The _Ebon Hawk_, en route to Telos…**

Dane sat unmoving in the hull of the _Ebon Hawk. _Jolee was beside her and HK-47 stood alone, in the small chamber off the main hold. T3-M4 tooled around the ship and the lieutenant Carth had assigned to fly them to Telos manned Atton's old seat in the cockpit. Despite this crew of five, the old freighter seemed empty, and the Exile felt the barren spaces of the ship with the Force.

_The Force…Is it still mine to use? _Dane mused, for there was little else to do on the voyage but sit and ponder her course. Visas words came to her, that she walked a path the Council could not sanction. _But where does that leave me? An exile who wears the robes and wields a lightsaber… A Jedi who is not a Jedi. Then I must be a general…_ But that wasn't true either. Not anymore. _This is how I shall go to Revan? A soldier without an army and a Jedi without an Order? _Dane scoffed. _I must be mad to think I can be of use to her. _

Dane stiffened and sat up straighter, keeping her eyes straight ahead. She was tempted to go to where the air was thicker and the smell of engine grease hung heavy in it, but she resisted. _I will not go and cry to Bao-Dur,_ she thought. _I am through crying and I am through being on this side of the line where all the pain and terror and death sits. _The thought quickened her resolve, but the doubts and the pointed glare of Jolee strapped in beside her intruded.

"If you have such strong reservations, Jolee, perhaps you shouldn't have come," Dane said tightly, picking up his thoughts, clear as day. _And that is likely for the best. This is a fool's errand…_

"You misunderstand me, girl," the old Jedi replied. "I'm not thinking about what's going to happen when we get there. I'm thinking about what's going to happen after it's done. You might turn that pilot back to the sunnier-side of things, but then what? The attack on Coruscant…? And he _knew_." Jolee's tone grew gentle but the look in his eye was sharp. "That's a lot to forgive. You up for it?"

Dane smiled thinly. "I don't know," she said. "Atton is tied into my future somehow," she said. "Visas said as much, but I know it too, even if I can't see how. And the only future I am striving for is one without the wound. Saving him might be a means toward that end. Beyond that?" Dane shrugged.

"This little field trip seems like a dangerous way to test this wound-ending theory," Jolee said slowly. "You may just end up with another wound altogether…the _permanent_, make-you-one-with-the Force kind of wound, if you catch my meaning."

Dane looked at him. "You think I should just leave him there? Let Carth bomb the Academy and the Sith Lord in it and be done with it, yes?"

"Well, now, missy, I didn't say that," Jolee began.

"It's all right, it makes sense. This alternative is suicide, perhaps," she admitted. "But I made a mistake and I need to right it. Kreia told me that the path I was to walk was not meant for those I loved. But I waited too long and the path she spoke of rose up to meet me, and Atton was standing on it beside me when it did. I violated Kreia's warning and now I must undo what I can. I can't leave him there, Jolee."

Jolee rubbed his chin. "And that Sith Lord needs some tending to…"

"Yes, there is that as well." Dane sighed. "Again, the path has risen to meet me. I go to Revan to help her fight a new war against the Sith, but I think I drew them to me instead. But I don't know that I am strong enough. I don't know that either one of us are strong enough," she said pointedly. "We are walking most certainly into a trap and I while I am not stupid enough to turn away help, I don't want your blood on my hands, Jolee. I think your coming may be a mistake."

Jolee nodded. "Oh, I didn't see this coming a kilometer away," he snorted. He leaned over in his chair. "It may surprise you to know that, despite my youthful vigor and good looks, I wasn't born yesterday. I knew it was only a matter of time before you tried to find a way to get rid of me. Well, I ain't buying what you're selling."

"You said yourself it is too dangerous," Dane began, knowing even as she spoke that she was fighting a losing battle.

"I know what I said," Jolee retorted, "I'm not senile…_yet. _You heard Visas. I'm allowed to skip the kiddie Council meetings if I tend to the big stuff out in the world and that includes that three-headed son of a _schutta_ on Telos. I _know_ you don't think you can save your pilot's sorry butt _and_ fight that monster all by yourself too."

Dane managed a tight smile, her relief tempered with fear for the old man she had come to love. "It won't be easy," she said.

Jolee sat back in his chair with a sigh. "Girly, nothing worth its salt ever is."

There was a silence between them then, where the only sounds were the hum of the _Ebon Hawk's _engines and a random _beep _or soundfrom T3-M4 who was tooling around the ship. Dane found she felt no more at ease than she had before.

"You know, you _are_ still a Jedi," Jolee grumbled after a time. "Visas booted you off the Council, but you are what you are."

Dane stiffened. "Yes, I am still a Jedi," she stated. _I am not ready to let go…_ "But I don't follow your meaning."

"I mean, I can hear your worried thoughts buzzing around my head like a ­­­­­­­­­­­­swarm of tesflis. Go meditate, if you haven't forgot how. Settle your mind and leave mine in peace."

Dane smiled and unstrapped herself from her seat. "All right, but you come with me." _I don't want to be alone. _

Jolee nodded, though whether it was at her spoken words, or her silent ones, Dane didn't know.

Dane sat down cross-legged in the center of the room as she had done so many times in front of Kreia, with the Disciple beside her. Only this time, she was with Jolee and she felt relief and gratitude for his presence.

After a few grumbled complaints about being to old to be sitting on the floor, Jolee settled and closed his eyes. Dane did the same across from him and felt some tension instantly begin to fall away from her. It had been a long time since she had meditated and she had forgotten how important it was to the life of a Jedi.

_And I _am _a Jedi…_she insisted. But that thought was the last as she concentrated on her breathing, the sound of it, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Her thoughts receded and she began to perceive the Force…

She saw first the bond between herself and Atton—a gaunt and shriveled cord of green and yellow that stretched out from the center of her being, from the belly of her corporeal form, and out into the blackness of space. She could not see him at the end of it, but only felt the dark energy of him coursing toward her on that broken, shattered channel that had once been hale and vibrant, if slender. She felt it like a fever, his energy—hot and thick and sour. Her own energy that she flowed in return was a thin trickle of tarnished gold; small undulations of Force that had once been gushing torrents before the battles and trials of the last weeks had dammed it up. _How easy it would be to cut that little thread…_

One little consideration, one idea that her bond to Atton was severed and it would be. She was powerful enough to do it; she had done it before with the Force all those long years ago. _That is the easy way out, _she thought. _To cut him adrift and let him float in the black space of the dark side…_The pain of that notion was swift and terrible and Dane knew it was not her destiny.

_The only way out is through, _she thought. _And Force help me, I love him still…_

Dane forced her mind to be silent until it became easy again…and then the Force appeared to her, drew her into some twilight world where the _Ebon Hawk _fell away and she was standing on a barren plain as the sun set on a colorless horizon. A dim figure dotted the endless nothing of the vista and as it drew nearer, Dane saw that it was Bao-Dur.

Dane caught her breath for she could see him clearly, bathed in a blue-gold light, striding from the nothing towards her. But no matter for how long she watched him walk, he never came any closer and Dane saw he was not alone.

Beside him, holding his hand—his real hand—was a small child of perhaps three, with golden hair and wide-set blue eyes…

_Who is this…? _Dane thought but there was no answer and then she saw the child beside him was gone, replaced by a lithe young woman with a determined set to her jaw—her platinum blond hair pulled back from her face.

_She looks like me…_

And then the young woman was gone and in her place was an older one, garbed in the robes of a Jedi Master, her face lined and her eyes sharp and knowing.

_What is this? _Dane thought and wanted to ask aloud, but she was struck mute. She could only watch as the figure beside Bao-Dur, holding tightly to his living hand, changed again and again, from small child to old woman and back—a flickering holovid stuck in fast forward.

And then the cycle stopped.

Bao-Dur ceased his strides and was suddenly, inexplicably, only twenty paces from Dane. The figure beside him was that of the young woman. She looked to the Iridonian, a small smile on her lips, and let go his hand to approach Dane.

Dane could only stare, speechless, as the woman, perhaps twenty years old, stood before her.

_She looks like me…_Dane thought again. She couldn't fathom why the Force was showing her what appeared to be a younger version of herself. _A mirror image… No, not quite. Her jaw and cheekbones…they are like Atton's…_

Dane sucked in a breath and the young woman smiled.

"Hello, mother." There were tears in her eyes. "I have missed you."

Dane could not move or speak as the young woman embraced her. _Gods, is this real? What is happening? _She could feel the slender but strong arms around her neck and Dane suddenly felt a familiarity, a bond that was entirely different from any she had felt with the Force, coupled with a joy that was unlike anything she had ever known. It filled her completely and she hugged the girl tight. _My daughter…_

Dane's own eyes clouded with tears and the figure of Bao-Dur on the horizon grew blurry. The Zabrak said nothing, only looked at her with a wide smile on his face.

The girl withdrew from Dane's embrace. "Dad misses you so much," she said in soft, but clipped tones, and in Dane's own voice. "I will tell him how beautiful you looked. He will like that."

Dane nodded, inexplicable feelings of joy and melancholy warring within her. She heard herself speak words but had no understanding of their meaning. "You always took such good care of him. From the very beginning, you protected him, didn't you?" she said, and laid a hand to the girl's cheek.

"Time to go," said Bao-Dur from beyond and the girl nodded.

"It was good to see you, mother," the girl said. She pressed her cheek into Dane's hand a moment more and then slowly turned away to join Bao-Dur. She took his outstretched hand and stood silent next to him.

"The war is not yet over, General," Bao-Dur told Dane, "but you have help." His eyes went to the young woman beside him. "You are not alone."

The young woman nodded agreement to the Zabrak's words and then they turned away and walked hand-in-hand, into the nothingness…

The plain under its colorless sky vanished and the solid walls of the _Ebon Hawk _returned.

Dane's eyes flew open and her hands went instantly to her abdomen. Now that she knew to feel for it, she did—a spark of the Force, tiny and pulsing within her, but no less powerful for its small size. _When? How? _A small laugh escaped her for she knew perfectly well the how and then she knew the when of it too.

_The night I showed him the wound…the night our bond was forged. _

Dane felt her face drain of color and her heart pounded in her chest. She wondered how she could feel so completely happy and so completely frightened at the same time. She looked up to see Jolee looking back, his eyes soft and kind.

"Did you see…?"

He nodded. "Aye, missy, I did. Privileged to have done so, too."

"Was it the future?"

Jolee shrugged. "The Force…it works both ways, forward and back. I don't question it more than that." He looked at her, his brown eyes boring into hers. "Now, what are you going to do?"

Dane met his gaze, her hands absently stroking the material of her robes over her stomach. "If he is to be redeemed, she is the way," she replied in a steady, measured voice. "I remember Visas' words: _'The wound demands restoration and relief; that is your destiny. The bond you have with Atton was forged for a purpose; he is your destiny.' _I am beginning to see…"Dane's words trailed away and she smiled a small smile. "Nothing has changed…nothing and everything. I am not a fool, I know the danger, but he has a right to know."

Jolee nodded. "And the Sith lord?"

Dane frowned. "When I think to answer that question, the words that come to mind are, 'Not yet,' but I don't know why. Does that make sense?"

"No," Jolee snorted, "but lately, few things do."

>>>

Deke Targan maneuvered the _Ebon Hawk _past the TSF station after asking for, and easily receiving, permission to enter the Telosian airspace. With a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure the cockpit was empty, the lieutenant quietly keyed a code into his comlink.

"We're in, sir," he said quietly. "Heading for the polar regions now. I'll begin transmission of our signature as soon as—"

"Transmission to who?" came a voice from behind. Deke nearly jumped out of his seat to see the Exile standing right behind him. "The Admiral? That can't be," she said dryly, "he's not due to arrive for another twenty-four hours."

Deke swallowed hard and missed her teasing smile. If there was one place he hated being, it was caught in the cross hairs of two superior officers. "Admiral Onasi has ordered me…"

"It's all right," said the general with a small laugh. She surveyed the scene outside the _Hawk's _viewports, scanning the terrain as it grew whiter and grayer. "Head due north for another three klicks and then try to land somewhere inconspicuous. Then you can proceed with your transmission." She turned to leave the cockpit with a sweep of her robes. "The Admiral's broken his promise," she added with a wry smile. "Tell him, thank you."

Deke, staring open-mouthed, raised his comlink. "Sir, did you—"

"Yeah, I heard," replied Carth Onasi's voice over the comm. He snorted a laugh. "I'll never understand Jedi."

_You and me both,_ Deke thought, but did not say aloud.

"I'll be waiting for your signal, Lieutenant," the Admiral said and the comm went out.

* * *

**Secret Academy, Telos, Polar Regions **

Jaq Rand awoke in the early morning hours of dawn. Though the small room had no viewports, he imaged the outdoors to be all gray and silver with cold. The room itself was gray and silver and he shivered for the metallic walls of the Academy absorbed the frigid air from without, chilling those within.

Reluctantly, Jaq withdrew himself from the warmth of the bed and Jude's body in it, and sat up on the edge. A dull knot of lust sat like a warm stone in his groin and his blood was coursing through his veins, bringing him fully awake instantly. He turned to Jude, intending to satiate the need. But as he turned to the woman, stretched his hand out to touch her, he suddenly wasn't certain if it was to caress her or to close his hand around her throat.

Jaq froze, then let his hand fall. He snorted a dry laugh and shook his head, thinking he must have imagined the murderous urge that had streaked through him. _I need a smoke. _

He gave a bone-creaking stretch and began to dress. His skin broke out in gooseflesh and he rubbed his bare arms vigorously and then drew on his pants. The movement woke Jude and before he could don the silky black inner robe, she took hold of his hand.

"Where are you going?" she purred sleepily. She drew his hand toward her, taking the tips of his slender fingers into her mouth and running her tongue over and between them.

"Out," Jaq said. He snatched his hand away before Jude's ministrations lured him back. This new lust wasn't for her. _Not unless she wants to end up dead,_ Jaq thought, and though he didn't fully understand his own thinking, he knew it was true.

"What for?" she was demanding.

"Smoke."

Jude scowled and watched him through narrowed eyes.

Jaq drew on his outer robe and tied the belt, feeling her gaze on him all the while. He paid her no attention but a small snort of laughter he could not ignore.

"What?" Jaq demanded.

"Oh nothing," she replied airily. "I just think it amusing to see you so afraid."

"'fraid my ass," Jaq muttered, pulling on his boots.

"No?" Jude's voice grew hard and she sat up, heedless of the bed sheets falling away from her. "I sense the fear in you Jaq—like a virus. It's making you sick and it's making you weak and, despite my firsthand knowledge to the contrary, I'm beginning to wonder if you have the…_fortitude_ to finish the task set out for you."

Jaq stood up, now fully dressed, and flashed her a s. "You know what, Jude? You're a fine lay but you sure are ugly in the morning."

"I'm serious, Jaq," Jude returned, tucking the sheets up to her chin for the cold. "I wonder if you will have the courage to face her, or if your cowardice will ruin our plans."

"I'm fine. The plan's fine, everything's fine," he muttered absently, looking around the small room. "Except that I can't find my damn lightsaber." Jaq ran his hands through his tousled hair. "Where the frack…?" He squatted to look under the bed and then stood to rummage through the pile of detritus on the table

"Nervousness does not become you, Jaq," Jude stated, leaning back on her pillows. "If you feel you are not up to facing the Exile—"

"Dammit, Jude, I said I would do it!" Jaq spat, his voice reverberating off the walls of their small room. "If I fail, it will be because you wouldn't shut up long enough to let me concentrate." Jaq spotted his lightsaber—finally—on the table under a particle of Jude's clothing that had been haphazardly discarded the night previous. He snatched it up and tucked it into his belt.

"Mmm, I like your anger much better than your fear," Jude mused, a pleased smile replacing her scowl.

"Keep it up and you'll get a lot more of it."

"Promise?"

Jaq grunted a response and tucked a battered packet of cigarras into an inner pocket of his robe. He went to the door and activated it.

"Hurry back, Jaq," Jude called after him, contentedly. "I would like to go over the plan with everyone one last time before she comes…"

Jaq let the door slide shut, cutting off Jude's last words.

"Mouthy _schutta_," he muttered, and stalked to the hangar.

Jaq nodded to the Sith on duty as he passed them and climbed up the metal-runged ladder that led to the outside. Cold, dry air met him as he threw open the hatch and the early morning sun glinting off the snow momentarily blinded him. Jaq climbed out of the Academy and shielded his eyes with one hand as he scanned the sky.

Nothing.

_I'll feel it when she comes,_ he thought.

Jaq greeted the Sith that patrolled the outer-perimeter with a toss of his head, and then trudged through the snow to a tall tree some fifty paces away from the Academy. The snow made everything quiet but for his footsteps that crunched through the icy crust that had formed overnight. The air was thinner as well and his breath plumed before him like the smoke did after he lit his cigarra. He leaned against the craggy bark of the tree and enjoyed the silence. From his vantage, the Academy's entrance was no more than a snow-covered boulder; from the sky it would be near impossible to spot.

_She'll find it,_ Jaq thought and the murderous lust that had woken him from his sleep stole over him again, this time coupled with a twinge of fear too. _Jude was right after all, _he thought. _I am afraid…_

He went over Jude's plan in his mind again and again. It was a good one, for all intents and purposes, and Jaq had faith that the dark Jedi woman had more than enough will and intelligence to see it carried out…to a point. Her plans culminated in Jaq facing the Exile, and him besting her.

_Jedi versus dark Jedi,_ Jaq pondered and glanced down at his velvety black robes and lightsaber and the feeling of unease increased. _That's not how it should be. It should be like how it was with the others…_Jaq took a long drag off his cigarra, trying to imagine his duel with Dane Koren. He tried to picture his own twin blades whirling around her, disarming her…beheading her. Jaq snorted. _She'll_ _skewer me before I even get a hand on my lightsaber. _

He pondered his predicament, trying again and again to imagine that he could defeat her in battle; that he would do as Darth Tertius had commanded. The image wouldn't stick.

The images that _did_ come unbidden to his mind, were those from the last nightmare he'd had on Manaan before he'd stopped sleeping. It was the dream in which he made an offering of the Exile to Revan in a ceremony on a stairway that led to nowhere. In that dream, Jaq had acted while his 'other self,' the weak and desperate identity he had taken for so long, could only watch helpless. He shivered and brushed them from his thoughts for while the event of the nightmare itself was not frightening—Jaq rather enjoyed it—but the idea of another man, a fractured piece of his own self watching left him unsettled.

Jaq blew out his cigarra smoke in irritation, and watched the sunrise progress over Telos.

Two cigarras later, the dream was still with him and his ire increased. Like a holovid that wouldn't stop replaying, he saw it again and again. The Exile turning to him; kneeling at his feet; raising her eyes to look at him; and then the humming slice of his blade through the air…

_What the frack is this? _

The Exile turning, kneeling, her eyes raised, the blade coming down…

_No, there's something else,_ Jaq thought, forgetting his anger and studying the dream instead. _Something I am forgetting…_

And then Jaq saw it. He saw the missing piece and as he viewed it fully, his heart began to thud and the blood surged through his veins pleasantly. The hot sweep of lust passed through him again, but this time he recognized it…remembered it…for what it was. _Of course,_ he thought with a bark of harsh laughter. _The Jedi I killed were never beaten by one of their own, just plain old me. That's half the gratification, half the _pleasure_ of the kill._ An ugly sneer marred his features. _Damn, it's been a long time. _

Without wasting another second, Jaq flicked his cigarra away with his thumb and forefinger, and hurried back into the Academy.

Jude was dressing into her dark Jedi robes when Jaq barged into the room and began stripping off his own.

"Jaq, my, my," she purred, running her hands over his chest once he'd removed his inner robe.

"Not now," Jaq stated and brushed off her touch. She stood aside and he could feel her watching him again through her narrowed eyes as he changed from his dark Jedi robes into his "Atton" clothes.

"What are you doing?" Jude asked warily.

"Change of plans," Jaq said without looking at her. "There's a lab station around here somewhere, isn't there?" he asked, exchanging the tall black boots of the Sith for Atton's work boots.

"Yes, off the hangar," Jude said. "Why…?"

Jaq shrugged into the ribbed jacket. He tugged on the black, fingerless gloves and then finally looked at Jude. He smiled grimly.

"You want the Exile dead?" he asked, staring into her brown eyes that were still full of suspicion.

"Of course…"she began, slowly.

"Then this is what we need to do…"

* * *

The _Ebon Hawk_ landed in a copse of trees approximately fifty meters from where Dane surmised the Academy lay. Jolee thought he understood why the young lieutenant chose the landing spot and saw Dane frown.

He, Dane, and HK-47 were standing outside the freighter, surveying their surroundings.

Dane shielded her eyes from the late afternoon sun and scanned the area. "Not an ideal location from which to launch a ground assault," she said. "From here there will be no element of surprise, but to land below would make navigating the terrain difficult and slow. Of course, a simple air strike with a few fighters unloading a barrage of plasma bombs would be the smartest and easiest." She looked at Jolee, her wide-set eyes grim and cold. "We're not going to have much time."

Jolee nodded, watching her. Since the discovery of her 'little stowaway', as he had taken to calling the baby, Dane's demeanor had changed. _In record time, too, _he mused. _That's women for you._

She was at once harder and more business-like in her communication and Jolee didn't doubt it was the General in her come to handle this dangerous mission. And though Jolee was no expert on the relations between a mother and her offspring, he sensed that the innate warmth in Dane could easily be flamed into a passionate fire to protect her child. _And vice versa… That child is strong in the Force and will lend her strength. _

But the revelation of the little stowaway had its own affect on Jolee as well—the urge to protect Dane himself was a strong one. "Now, you remember the plan, right?" he asked her. "Get in, tell Atton he's going to be a father—Force help us all—and then get out. Right?"

Dane frowned and Jolee felt the fear tightly coiled around the General and the mother, both.

"Yes, Jolee," she said, her tone grim. "I will not linger any longer than can be helped."

Jolee nodded and did not press the point. He could sense she was telling the truth and he felt too, the ache in her heart for it. _Atton, you'd better come around quick, _Jolee thought, _or I'm going to stick my boot so far up your…_

The emergence of Deke Targan from the _Hawk _interrupted Jolee's dark musings.

Dane turned to the lieutenant. "You have my frequency," she told him, indicating the comlink affixed to her sleeve. "Give me at least ten minutes after Carth arrives."

"I'll try to give you more than that, General," Deke replied quietly. "Admiral Onasi doesn't want any casualties on our side. He's not going to do anything until he knows you're safe."

Dane shook her head. "The Sith are outnumbered, exposed, and have no back up of any kind. If this isn't the biggest trap we're about to walk into, I don't know what is. They're planning something…I can feel it." She gave Deke a small smile. "Ten minutes. That's all I want. That's all we should give _them_."

Deke nodded and saluted. "Yes, General."

"Put your hand down, Lieutenant; I'm not anyone's general…not anymore," she said, and with a nod toward HK-47 and Jolee to follow, Dane began trudging in the snow toward the Academy which looked like nothing more than a white hump in a field of the same.

"So, you're not a general, eh?" Jolee commented dryly after they'd left the copse of trees and the _Hawk _behind them. "Could have fooled me."

"I'm no general, and I'm no Jedi either, I suppose," Dane replied, her tone emotionless. "What I _am_ is tired of being reasonable," she said. "And we've got a job to do. And then afterwards maybe…" Her words trailed and Jolee felt a longing in her that she would not give voice to.

"And Revan?" he asked.

Dane sighed. "The war is almost over," she said, echoing Bao-Dur's words. She met his eyes. "Almost, but not yet."

Jolee didn't quite know what to make of that but Dane had suddenly come to a halt.  
"This is the plan," she said abruptly, loudly, stopping short and causing Jolee to nearly collide with HK-47. "You're going to escort me to the Academy. Likely they're will be some sort of contingent to bring me in. When that happens, get back to the _Hawk _and wait for Carth."

"Have you completely lost your mind, girl?" Jolee demanded, his voice loudly jarring the still air. "And didn't we already have this talk back on the ship…?"

"You _will_ go back to the ship," she said again, louder. _Listen, Jolee. Can you feel them?_

The old Jedi opened his mouth to retort and then snapped it shut again. He had heard her words loud and clear in his mind, and his hand went instinctively to his lightsaber, but it was too late. Sith soldiers—perhaps fifteen, and some dark Jedi among them—appeared out of the lengthening shadows of dusk to surround the three. HK-47 cocked his carbine, the sound ripping through the still air, but Dane held up a hand.

She caught a hold of Jolee's eyes and under her spoken words she sent him a current of thoughts through the Force. _Eastern side…entrance…_ "Here is where we part ways, my friend," she said aloud.

"You were ordered to come alone, Exile," seethed one of the dark Jedi. He glared snidely at Jolee and then less boldly at HK-47 whose photoreceptors were glowing red in the light of the setting sun.

"These two wished to accompany me this far," Dane told the Sith and Jolee felt her use the Force, felt the mild Persuasion as it infiltrated the weak mind of the Sith. "They will cause you no trouble and you will allow them to leave unmolested." To Jolee, _I go alone to find Atton…You come after and find the trap… I know there is one. _

"So be it," the dark Jedi said and made a motion with his black-gloved hand. A detail of Sith moved to surround Dane. "Go back to your ship, old man, and take your pet droid with you," he snarled at Jolee and then the Sith began to march, Dane in their midst.

_Find the trap, Jolee, please…_

Jolee watched with rising fury as the Sith led the Exile away.

"Irritated Statement: I have made a calculation of the number of times Master has been threatened by enemy meatbags and yet has not permitted me to initiate my core protocols," HK complained. "Aggrieved Tabulation: An astronomical figure, I can assure you, especially when computed against the number of casualties that would have resulted…"

"Shut up," Jolee said almost to himself, his eyes following the small, black cloud of Sith as it retreated over the snow. "You're going to get your chance, droid. You got 'protocols' and all that nonsense. I have a feeling there's going to be trouble and a whole lot of it."

"Long-Suffering Observation: It's about time."

* * *

**Telos, Secret Academy, Polar Regions…**

**03:00:00**

Darth Tertius sat silently in the Meditation Chamber, a lone figure draped in black and a pale hand resting easily on the lightsaber beside him. He sat on the center of three chairs, those on either side of him vacant. The metal band affixed to the rear of Darth Tertius' head, like a visor worn backwards, flickered a series of red lights. With lightning speed, the band sent an impulse into the brain, telling the Dark Lord that his one of his augmentations had returned.

The chamber door slid open smoothly and a second black-robed figure glided into the room and sat in the empty chair to the left of the first.

"Is it done?" Darth Tertius inquired.

"_It is,_" murmured the left, the intelligence enhancement.

"Were you discovered?"

"_No."_

"Resistance?"

"_None. The explosives are in place."_

"Time?"

"_Three hours._"

Darth Tertius nodded his approval. There was a silence, a waiting, and then there came the soft sound of metal scraping against metal from behind the Sith Lord. The third robed figure emerged from the secret passageway at the rear of the Meditation Chamber and took his seat to the right of the center.

"Report?"

"**The transport is secured**," said the right, the strength enhancement.

"Were you discovered?"

"**No."**

"Resistance?"

"**Yes, one. But weak and easily disposed**."

"And the pilot?"

"**I've shattered her mind. She will take us where we want to and say nothing to the Gracus woman in the meanwhile."**

The center figure nodded. "The Exile is coming."

"_She is very near,_" commented the left.

"**She is not alone. There will be blood spilled today**," stated the right.

"How exquisite. Let us let them play for a bit."

"_Let the assassin try his hand…"_

"**And if he fails, we act…"**

"Yes, and he will likely fail."

_"But it will be engaging to watch…And once the threat is removed, by our hands or by his…"_

"**Then we find Revan**."

All three figures that were Darth Tertius nodded in perfect unison and then settled into a motionless silence to wait.

* * *

**02:44:29 **

Dane, heavily guarded by the fifteen Sith, entered the confines of the base, imagined she could see the dark energy hanging heavy in the air, like a poison. _And it thickens to a fog at the rear of this place. That is where the Sith Lord is waiting. _

The Sith led her through the winding corridors of the Academy, past the quarters where Atris' Handmaidens had once resided, to the first of its three large chambers, where Lirik Thrakill was waiting.

He was standing off to one side, leaning casually against the curved, metallic wall, a lazy smile on his features. "Dane Koren," he drawled, amused. "We meet again."

Rage like Dane had never known it, welled up in her at the sight of him. She very nearly lashed out at him with the Force, but she felt, at the corners of her perceptions, that the dark energies surrounding her were urging her hungrily toward such a display. It was only that knowledge, and the disgust that accompanied it, that kept her from killing Lirik right then and there. She released the Force she had summoned and took a steadying breath that brought little comfort.

"What do you want?" she asked through clenched teeth.

"Oh, I am the welcoming committee," Lirik said. He placed his hands behind his back and strolled over to her. "I am the first of several persons who are very eager to meet you."

"Her weapon, lord," said a Sith guard, stepping forward and handing to Lirik Dane's lightsaber, it having been removed from her upon entry into the Academy. The Exile watched the transaction and watched Lirik take the weapon with a small, resigned sigh, as though he were disappointed.

"Yes, of course," he said coldly and dismissed the guard with a hard stare. "I'd be highly remiss in my duty if I allowed you to continue armed as you are," he said to Dane, his jovial tone sounding strained. Dane noticed the young man seemed aged somehow. There was less energy in his step and his smile seemed forced. But these observations were at the periphery of Dane's thoughts for the desire to kill him dominated all others.

Lirik toyed with her lightsaber and Dane eyed the weapon, itched to call to her hand and destroy the lot of them.

"Now, now," Lirik chastised, "such black and heartless thoughts are hardly becoming. I know you are approximately five seconds from blasting the guards around you with your considerable power, before igniting your noble consular's blade and putting to an end the vile and murderous existence of one young dark Jedi. Correct?"

"Correct," Dane murmured.

"But you also know that to do such a thing would surely forfeit the life of one Jaq Rand, formerly _Atton_ Rand, formerly your life's love. Am I correct again?"

Dane said nothing, but regarded him coldly.

"I'm sorry, Exile," Lirik said, his smile slipping and his jovial façade falling away, "but it is not yet your time." Her lightsaber disappeared into the sleeve of his robe. _Soon…_

The rage Dane had felt threatened to sweep her away again and she did not hear Lirik's whispered word in her mind. Here, standing before her was the dark Jedi that had caused her so much grief; who had nearly killed Atton before turning him to the dark side. The pain and anguish and heartache that she and Atton had suffered over the last few weeks were due to the handsome young man standing before her.

_He is not handsome, not truly, Dane_ thought. _He is an ugly, small being inside a comely man's body. _Her anger at him clouded her senses and she almost didn't realize Lirik was standing but two paces from. She took a step back but he took another forward, closing the short distance between them in an instant. Dane had no where to go—the line of Sith guards blocked a retreat. Lirik's smile widened and he stepped closer while reaching his hand out to touch her cheek.

"Get away from me," Dane hissed.

"You are a pretty thing," Lirik mused, studying her. "I can see why Jaq kept you around as long as he did. But he's had his fun," the dark Jedi's voice grew low. "It's my turn now. I am, after all, the welcoming committee…"

Lirik's hand slipped down around her neck, pulling her towards him. His other hand went to her breast, groping at her awkwardly. Dane slipped out of his grip and slapped him across the face, channeling her rage into that small attack.

The dark Jedi reeled and then his head snapped back, his blue eyes alit with fury.

"I'm getting real tired of being slapped by uppity bitches like you," he seethed. _Especially when I am trying to help you, _he whispered in her mind with the Force and struck her across the jaw in return.

Dane nearly dodged the blow, sparing herself from the full force of it, but she was taken off-guard. Lirik came at her again before she could recover, one arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her towards him, pulling her away from the Sith. She summoned the Force to push him away, but the breath was suddenly blown out of her body as Lirik pivoted and slammed her against the wall of the chamber. Her head struck unyielding durasteel and she saw stars. Lirik's hands were all over her, fumbling and unpracticed, though exaggeratedly so, while he pressed his face against her neck. Dane's head started to clear and she heard the chuckles of the Sith guards, could see them exchange knowing looks. Rage welled in her and killing Lirik, whatever the consequences, was suddenly her only option.

But as Dane summoned the Force, she heard Lirik's hurried words in her mind.

_This is as unappealing to me as it is to you, I assure you. Don't kill me yet, Exile…_

His words alone were not enough to stop her from ending his life, but Dane felt one of his hands, the one not fumbling at the ties to her robe, slip around to her back. She felt the pressure of a cylindrical object being tucked into her belt and she realized with a shock that he had returned her lightsaber to her—had hidden it in her belt in the back where her robes would cover it and no one could see….and then Lirik's words again.

_Now shove me away…I know you must be _dying_ to…_

He was right. He may have given her weapon back—for whatever reason—but he was still Lirik Thrakill and the memory of his hands on her body, even if only for the ruse, was very real. Dane shoved him with the Force and shoved him hard. Lirik flew from her as though she'd shocked him. He landed heavily in the center of the chamber and then slid another five paces on the smooth floor. The Sith, as a body, chuckled and murmured to one another.

Lirik shot them a dirty look as he got to his feet and brushed off his robes. "Right, well, they'll be time enough for that later," he muttered awkwardly and then looked at Dane.

_What game is this? _Dane thought. She stretched her senses, using the Force to probe at the dark Jedi gently, gingerly, as though afraid of what she might touch. But instead of an inky black pool of dark side energy and ambition and hate, Dane found a bizarre emptiness, like a vacuum of sensation, and—most significantly—of sound. This emptiness was cloaked in a heavy morass of grief that seemed to have settled itself over the dark Jedi, muting the anger and evil purposes and years of carefully stoked hatred.

_Lanik…_

Dane heard the name lamented in his mind and she remembered the headless body upon which Bastila Shan had lain in the _Ebon Hawk. _She remembered the disembodied head lying a few feet away, saw the wide, staring blue eyes…

_NO! _

Dane flinched as Lirik walled up his mind, blocking out the image she had inadvertently shown him. She met his eyes, read the meaning in them. _He's had enough. He is helping me now only because he has had enough._

_There's hope for you yet_, Dane sent to him, but her expression was still hard for she had not released her anger toward him.

Lirik's own eyes grew dark and she sensed his emotions again, for it seemed they hovered very close to the surface in him…something the Sith would consider a weakness. _Perhaps he has changed his destiny…_ Dane thought without meaning to.

Lirik sneered. "You've got your own skin to worry about, Exile," he said aloud defiantly, coldly. "Take her to Jaq."

Dane was at once surrounded by a quartet of dark Jedi guards who at once began leading her out of the room. Lirik Thrakill was blocked from her sight and Dane suddenly knew she would never see him again, but she heard his last communication in her mind clear as day, grudging and quiet.

_Be careful. _

Dane made no sign that she heard him, but the tremendous knot of fear for what she was about to witness in Atton eased.

_There is always hope for those who have fallen, _she thought. _Always. _

* * *

**02:24:12 **

"Only four guards at the perimeter," Jolee mused. He and HK-47 were crouched behind a snow-laden boulder, studying the camouflaged Academy.

"Confident Observation: A pitifully small number of targets, easily removed. Tactical Deduction: The enemy must be low on meatbags to provide such limited protection."

"Or we'll have to handle the bulk of their numbers _inside_," Jolee said dryly.

HK-47 seemed to shrug. "Meatbag Proverb: First things first," and before Jolee could stop him, the assassin droid broke from their cover, took aim, and fired his disruptor carbine at the guard nearest him. Jolee winced down to the core of his very soul at the ripping, air-splitting sound the droid's weapon made, and as he swore the vilest oath he had every uttered, the sound came three more times.

"You stupid, senseless, _brainless_ collection of parts…" Jolee snarled, coming out from behind the rock, his lightsaber drawn and ignited. He stopped and fell silent, glancing around. The guards were dead—the two closest to him leaking bright crimson over the snow, the other two only dark lumps against the white. If droids could smirk, he was sure HK-47 would be doing just that.

"Status Report: Meatbag targets extinguished. Perimeter secured. We are clear to proceed."

Jolee ignored both the droids words and his own desire to short-circuit him with the Force. He listened, waiting for the sounds of HK's gunfire to draw others. But nothing happened.

Jolee sighed and deactivated his blue blade. "That's the last time you do something like that without awaiting orders, you hear me? You could have drawn the entire enemy force down on us."

"Puzzled Query: And that is a bad thing?"

Jolee rolled his eyes. "There's only two of us and Force knows how many of them. We'll need the element of surprise, so be quiet once we get inside," he said and began to creep along the edge of the Academy, toward the eastern side.

"Condescending Affirmation: Of course, crinkled meatbag," HK said, clumping after him, "I will be as silent as the dead."

* * *

**02:18:33**

Four Sith guards marched with Dane through the Academy, toward the central chamber where Dane remembered speaking with Atris' Handmaidens. Those memories were like moths fluttering at the corners of her mind and she ignored them, forcing herself to concentrate. She felt the reassuring weight of her lightsaber tucked into the back of her belt and her left hand itched to whip it out, ignite its green blade, and end the lives of the four Sith surrounding her.

An orange, double-bladed lightsaber did just that instead.

Dane, for all her attempts to focus, was completely taken aback by a tall shape stepping into her midst. The first two Sith were dead, the third moments away and the fourth stood frozen in shock before Dane had the presence to try for her own lightsaber. But Atton was quick—she managed to brush her fingers across the top of the cylinder and then the Sith were dead and Atton was behind her, one hand covering her mouth, the other—still clutching his ignited lightsaber—around her waist, holding her tight against him.

"Sssh, babe," she heard him whisper, her astonished mind barely able to comprehend what was happening. "It's a trap. You have to—"

Dane drove her elbow into Atton's gut and spun easily out of his grip while calling her lightsaber to her hand at the same time. She ignited the emerald blade and held it before her in both hands, keeping it between herself and Atton, while at the same time, tearing his own weapon from his hand with the Force and sending it flying into the chamber beyond.

"What is this?" she demanded, looking him over, summing him up.

His gray-green eyes were like chips of glass, and dark purple rents trailed from under his eyes to his cheeks. The taint of the dark side was on him, in the pallor of his skin and in the shadows that haunted his eyes. But despite the corruption of him, his expression was soft and almost pleading.

"Dane, you have to get out of here," Atton whispered, glancing around furtively. He took a step toward her. Dane took a step back, her lightsaber unwavering. "It's a trap. Jude and Darth Tertius have set a trap for you. You shouldn't have come."

"This _is_ the trap," Dane whispered, and stretched out her senses with the Force to confirm it. She drew upon their bond to find the hate and anger of the dark side in him, to cast the sickly light on the truth—that he was lying to her, trying to trick her. Instead she heard Atton's old, familiar refrain…_Take the plus one card, total is now eighteen…_

Dane kept her eyes on him, unwilling to even blink. _What are you doing?_

Atton, his frustration obviously growing, took another step toward her. "Dammit, I'm doing what I've always done," he said loudly. "They got in once but I won't let them break me again," added in a quieter tone with a tinge of paranoia to it. He quickly glanced around the corner from where they stood into the chamber beyond.

When he turned back around, Dane saw—and felt—a kind of desperate panic in him, coupled with a horrible grief.

"I tried to keep them out, babe, but they were too strong," Atton said gruffly. "I held off for as long as I could," he told her, stepping closer, "but they dug in deep and pulled it out, all of it…my sister, the war, the Jedi I killed…They gutted me, babe, and now there's nothing left inside." His gray-green eyes were wide and staring, and his words came out of him in short, erratic bursts. "I know you don't believe me and I don't care! Just get out of here… Dane!" he said. "Don't let them get you, too."

Dane backed away from him, keeping her blade between them.

"Atton, I have to tell you something," Dane said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. The conflicting emotions in her—hope, love and fear—were at war and she struggled to keep her focus. She gripped the handle of her weapon tightly, feeling the sweat of her palms from inside her black gloves. She probed with the Force again…_turn the plus-or-minus-five card and total is now thirteen. Opponent draws a three…_

Frustration clouded her thinking, made her slow. "Atton, I'm—"

"Go, Dane!" he hissed. "There's no time."

"Atton, please…" _Tell me that I can trust you, _Dane sent when her words failed her.

_You can't, sweets, _came his reply, _but I'm holding on now…to say goodbye. _

And then Atton slipped past Dane's lightsaber. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, one hand at the back of her neck, the other around her waist. Dane froze, every muscle and every sinew in her body coiled to move at the first sign of danger, but there was none. There were only the familiar sensations of his embrace and Dane clutched him to her.

"I'm so sorry, babe," he whispered brokenly, the gloved hand at her neck moving gently, his fingers working slowly against her skin. "I don't deserve to be salvaged. Please, just go…Please…"

Dane felt it then—a dark side energy drawing near. Instinctively, she Force-pushed Atton away and regained control over her weapon. The strength of her push sent Atton flying into the chamber beyond and Dane felt a cold sliver of fear as the sounds of a small struggle and then a woman's cackling laugh came from within it.

The Exile took a tentative step, keeping close to the wall, and peeked her head inside. A red-haired woman—clearly the same from the hologram, Jude Gracus—was standing behind a kneeling Atton. In one hand the dark Jedi held a fistful of Atton's hair and had yanked his head back to expose his throat. The other held a vibrodagger to the pale skin, its point pressing into his pulsing jugular.

"I knew he would fold like the coward he is at the sight of you," Jude snarled, and Atton flinched as the dagger dug in and drew out a drop of dark red blood.

Dane's eyes darted between the woman and Atton who appeared defeated. He met her gaze and she saw the hopelessness in him

_Dammit! What is happening? _Dane thought, close to a kind of panic herself. _This is the trap, it has to be…_ But another inspection of Atton's mind with the Force revealed only more card counting. _It doesn't matter, _Dane thought suddenly, _trap or no, he is what I came for. _

"Let him go," she heard her own voice, hollow and cold, demand. She leveled her lightsaber at the woman.

"Lirik, that traitorous bastard!" the dark Jedi shrieked, eyeing the green blade. "I am surrounded by weak-minded fools who throw away everything to kneel at your feet, Exile," she seethed. "But I shall take some pleasure out of this day by witnessing your pain as I spill your lover's blood right before your eyes…"

Jude drew back her blade to slice it across Atton's throat. Dane, in a panic to save him, tried to stop the woman with the Force and lunged forward instinctively at the same time. Atton, feeling the killing blade come at him, tried to twist out of the way. Jude's hand, partially influenced by the Force Dane threw at her and partially because of Atton's sudden movement, missed his throat entirely. Instead, the vibrodagger swung out wide and down and she buried it in Atton's side.

"No!" Dane screamed and rushed forward while Atton unleashed an agonized howl. Blood immediately began to puddle on the silver-metallic floor as he yanked the dagger free. He pressed his hand to his side and crawled away from Jude, leaving a smear of red to mark his way. Jude, seeing Dane attack, drew her own crimson-colored lightsaber.

Dane flew at the woman, her green blade slicing through the cold air. The dark Jedi parried every thrust desperately until she had found her footing, and then the duel began in earnest.

Dane tried to corral her anger and hate but every slice of her blade was motivated and guided by it. She didn't know what Atton was, if she had lost him or not, but she knew this woman before her was the enemy and so she unleashed every skill and tactic she had at the woman…especially as Jude began to taunt her.

"We were lovers, he and I," Jude panted, parrying Dane's attack. "Every night for the last three nights…" she said. "I just thought you should know that…Perhaps it will help you decide if he is worth saving or not."

"You lie!" Dane snarled.

"Yes, often," Jude said, executing a high block and then trying to cut in low at Dane's thigh. "But not this time," she said and but in her heart Dane knew it was true.

The pain of Atton's betrayal momentarily clouded Dane's vision and she only barely knocked aside a cutting slice of Jude's blade that came a little too close. _It wasn't him…They changed him into something else. It wasn't Atton…_

Jude laughed coldly at the pained expression on Dane's face and struck with her own fury—with both her lightsaber and her words.

"He's the greatest fuck I've ever had," she continued, "and lest you think he was coerced or forced, let me tell you, he was more than willing. Oh, yes, we—"

The dark Jedi woman must have seen that she had made a mistake for Dane's fury grew white hot and she channeled it into a flurry of strikes that took Jude's breath away and ended with her crimson blade being torn from her hand and skittering across the metallic floor. The women were close to one wall of the chamber and Dane pressed Jude against it, leveling the tip of her blade at the dark Jedi's neck. Only a weak Force-push from Jude kept the lightsaber at bay.

"You'll never touch him again, you _Sithspawn_ _schutta bitch_!" Dane seethed and brought her elbow up and slammed it into Jude's mouth, effectively removing the smirk the dark Jedi had worn since their encounter began. The heat of her rage startled Dane and that blow didn't come close to satiating it. She tried to call upon the Code, to calm her raging emotions but Dane the General usurped Dane the Jedi. _Enough is enough. This is a battle, _she thought, _and in battle there are casualties…_

Dane collapsed Jude's weak Force defense and went to drive her lightsaber into Jude's throat when she saw, instead of fear in the woman's dark brown eyes, a light of triumph. In that split second, Dane felt a strong arm restrain the killing stroke of her right hand and then the stinging pinch of a needle being jabbed into her neck. Immediately, she felt a heavy, dull ache of pressure as some substance was forced into her jugular. Almost instantly, Dane's world began to spin and became horribly blurry, as though she'd been sucked into a maelstrom that spun her as it submerged her into its watery depths. Jude knocked the lightsaber from her nerveless hand and Dane stumbled backwards…into Atton.

The Exile, swaying drunkenly, turned around and looked up at him. _No…_she thought and her drugged mind could not find the words to express the horror and shock of what had happened. She could only stare blearily at his snarl of triumph, at the now-empty syringe tucked sticking out of the thumb of his fingerless glove, as the strength drained out of her.

Dane's legs buckled and she slid to the ground, her hands groping fruitlessly at Atton as she seemingly melted into a puddle at his feet. "No," she muttered incoherently, her tongue thick in her mouth, "Can't…You can't…" The drug—whatever it was—took stronger effect and Dane's thoughts broke apart and fluttered just out of reach. She rolled over onto her back, her breath coming in heaving gasps, and her hands clenching and unclenching at nothing.

Dane's world became sensation only, devoid of all thought or rationale, and because of this inability to consider or examine what she was seeing and feeling, her helplessness was complete. She saw Jude and Atton standing over her and they were as giants, their bodies elongated and stretching on and on into forever. She saw their mouths meet, heard the loud, booming thunder of their voices as they laughed and then Atton's face was suddenly as large as the sky in front of her. She smelled cigarra smoke and another woman's perfume as he placed his lips to her cheek.

"Hiya, sweets," he said, and his whispering voice was a thousand snakes hissing and slithering into her ear. "I told you it was a trap."

* * *

**01:51:36**

_I hate always being right,_ Jolee thought, parrying the blow of the dark Jedi with his lightsaber just in time to catch the downward killing stroke of another attacker.

He and HK-47 were in what appeared to be an empty hangar at one end of the Academy. Jolee had made the mistake of letting the droid descend down the ladder first where he was met by a small contingent of Sith. The blasts from HK-47's disruptor carbine rang off the durasteel walls and echoed alarmingly loud throughout the building. By the time Jolee had descended, the small contingent had become large, as twenty Sith and dark Jedi poured into the hangar.

"If we survive this," Jolee told the droid, "…remind me to kill you."

HK-47 did not reply but concentrated his attentions on mowing down the black-clad shapes that swarmed toward them.

Lirik Thrakill watched the battle between what remained of the Sith forces, the Jedi and the Jedi's droid, with mild interest. He waited for Jude to come screeching around the corner to direct her soldiers so that they didn't merely throw themselves—hate-filled and eager for blood—at the old Jedi, but she did not appear. _Or perhaps the racket will wake up Darth Tertius,_ Lirik thought and shivered. He decided right then that he had watched enough and continued his search for a way out of the Academy.

The dark Jedi was certain he had seen a secret, underground passage in one of the Academy's schematics when he had first arrived at the base. Quickly and quietly, Lirik retreated from the hangar and slunk into the Handmaidens' quarters. _The passage was in here_ _so that the students could make an escape if a threat came. I'm sure of it. _Lirik searched every part of the chamber but found nothing that revealed a way out.

Finally, he dropped down to all fours, looking under the bunks for a secret catch or lever in the floor. Instead, he found a thermal detonator silently counting down the minutes to its own destruction.

"This is interesting," Lirik murmured, a pang of fear gripping his heart. Slowly, carefully, he lay flat on his stomach and stretched out his hand. He gently gripped the brilliant red sphere and tilted it so he could read the timer. It said one hour, forty-nine minutes and counting. Lirik let out a sigh of relief and eased his hand away from the explosive.

"Plenty of time," he mused, and got to his feet. He dusted off his robes and cocked his head, listening as the battle in the other chamber continued. _I'll just have to wait until it comes to its grim and final conclusion and then slip past the Sith through the hangar. _He thought of the old Jedi—Jolee, he remembered his name was—and a sneer appeared on Lirik's face.

_On Manaan, he was always trying to catch me,_ he thought, _but I was outsmarted him every step of the way. _The thought should have pleased him, but Lirik frowned instead. He imagined the old man fighting for his life on the other side of the wall, surrounded by dark Jedi and outnumbered. _He lived a long time to die like this, in this gods-forsaken piece of nowhere. _Lirik snorted. _What do I care if the old man lives or dies? _came another thought. _He's been nothing but a pain in my ass since the beginning. _

Lirik stood a moment longer and then swore a vile curse. "Can't any of these damn Jedi take care of themselves?" he muttered. A quick scan of the Academy with the Force told him if Darth Tertius or Jude had heard the racket of the battle, neither thought it important enough to investigate. _I don't know if that's a good or bad thing, _Lirik mused beforequickly grabbing his lightsaber, igniting it, and rounding the corner into the hangar.

So intent on helping Jolee was he, Lirik failed to notice that the sounds of battle had ceased. He dashed into the hangar, lightsaber blazing and only just registered that the old man and the Hunter-Killer unit were surrounded by a ring of dead Sith. They both froze when they saw Lirik round the corner.

Lirik stopped short. "Oh," was all he got out before the sound of the droid's disruptor carbine roared multiple times in quick succession. A band of agonizing bursts of flesh and blood exploded diagonally across Lirik's body from thigh to shoulder and he was sent flying backwards to crash heavily against the wall. There he sat like a child's abandoned doll, his head lolling so that his chin rested on his chest. From this vantage he could see all five holes the droid's weapon had blasted into him, starting above his left knee and ending in his right shoulder.

Lirik frowned. "This is what I get for trying to help," he mused and then came the pain…

* * *

**01:43:59**

"Son of a bitch!" Jaq swore. "I told you to make it real, but not _that_ real," he muttered, twisting gingerly to inspect his side. A dark red splotch of blood stained his ribbed jacket and leaked down his pants leg.

"Where else would I have done it?" Jude demanded, summoning her lightsaber with the Force from the edge of the chamber where it had rolled, and she tucked it into her belt. She summoned Jaq's as well and then stepped over the legs of the Exile who was lying on the floor, staring at nothing, and muttering incoherently. "It had to look real, as you said," Jude continued, "and the Exile threw some Force at me. Despite all, it worked perfectly." She took hold of Jaq by the back of the neck and crushed her lips to his.

She pulled away after a minute and handed Jaq his lightsaber. They both glanced down and the Exile, writhing weakly on the floor.

"You could have simply killed her, you know. You had the chance."

"Where's the fun in that?" Jaq scoffed.

"What did you give her?"

"Oh, a little something I whipped up," he replied. "Should have knocked her out cold, but…"

Jude smirked and then shrugged. "Well, she's not going anywhere. She's all yours, Jaq," she said, moving towards the door. "By the sounds of things, your little bitch didn't come alone_. And_, I've got to take care of Lirik. That bastard let her in here with that lightsaber, and I'd wager it was no mistake, either."

Jaq snorted. "No shit? I was about to stick her and then nearly pissed my pants when she ignited that thing," he said with a harsh, barking laugh and then flinched for the pain in his side.

"Mmm, but you handled yourself so well," Jude said appreciatively. "Have fun, Jaq, but remember Darth Tertius is waiting," she said with a nod toward the door at the opposite end of the chamber that led to another hallway, and then to the Meditation Chamber. "And as much as I want you to enjoy yourself, keep in mind Admiral Onasi is likely to arrive at any minute. We must be prepared for the evacuation."

Jaq made a dismissive gesture. "Yeah, yeah, I remember."

Jude favored him with a lascivious smile as she stepped out the door. "I'll be back soon to see the fruits of your labor," she purred and then she was gone.

Jaq pressed a cloth to the wound in his side to staunch the flow and then called upon the Force to heal it. The Force healing was hardly more than a trickle since the dark side was not conducive to its use anymore, but the bleeding stopped and the pain eased.

Wiping his bloodied hand on his leg, he pulled a battered pack of cigarras from inside his ribbed jacket and lit one as he crouched beside the Exile. He exhaled smoke from out of his nose as he examined her.

The drug he had given her should have rendered her unconscious but she was strong. Jaq wasn't surprised—often a Jedi would require more than one dose of his concoctions, and his hand strayed to the pocket of his jacket where another syringe, filled with the potent ice blue liquid, resided.

_Doesn't look like I'll need it, _he mused, watching the Exile.

Her eyes stared wide at the ceiling and he saw them catch and follow the tendrils of smoke from his cigarra. He reached one hand and grabbed her jaw, yanking her head so that her eyes met his. Her mouth worked soundlessly and her hands came up, like wounded birds, to brush harmlessly against him.

Jaq snorted and roughly released her. "Pitiful," he snorted, still watching her. "I should just chop your damn head off and be done with it," he said.

Jaq pondered his options as he smoked. Without thinking, he laid a hand on her head, stroking her pale-blond hair. Instantly, her eyes closed and he felt, through their Force bond, a terrible grief… and then something else.

"Fool," Dane muttered, her face contorted as though she were in pain.

"Fool, eh?" Jaq snarled, snatching his hand away. "Well, I got the best of you, didn't I?"

"…Yours…Your baby…"

"What?" he breathed and then the Exile was reaching out to him with the Force bond, channeling a stream of images and sensations to him; a current of concepts, broken and random because of the drug. But one certainty reached him loud and clear despite the fractured quality of Dane's thoughts, and Jaq's breath caught in his throat. He backed away from her and leaned against the wall, his cigarra falling from nerveless fingers.

"No…no, no," he muttered and as if to answer his denial, the force of Dane's conveyance became more clear.

Jaq resisted, recoiled from the truth and tried desperately to deny it, but she was strong. _Even like this, a helpless half-wit rolling on the ground, and she's trying to take me back…It is a Jedi trick and nothing more. _But he realized with alarming clarity that he was wrong on both fronts. She was not quite so helpless; the drug was already wearing off… and what she was showing him was true.

"No!"Jaq sucked in a breath and jabbed his fist into his side. The pain was instant and breathtaking. Fresh blood seeped from the wound and he reveled in the feeling of it, hot against his skin. He tried to use the pain as a buffer against her, to fuel his anger and hatred, but it betrayed him and began to fade.

Dane had rolled on to her side, facing him. Her eyes were heavy and her limbs twitched and jumped at times, but the gaze she held him with was growing increasingly more focused…and then she smiled, softly and sadly, at him.

Jaq's eyes widened. "You stupid, stupid _schutta bitch_!" he raged and flew at her. He knelt beside her, gripped her by the shoulders, and yanked her halfway off the ground. "Why? Why did you let this happen?" He shook her roughly and her head rolled drunkenly on her slender neck. "_Answer me!"_

But Dane said nothing. Her smile had faded and there was a terrible sorrow in her glassy-eyed stare. "Not me alone," she replied. "She is yours and mine…"

"Shut up!" Jaq seethed and gave her another bone-rattling shake. He hauled her close so that his face was inches from hers. "Is this what you want? Is this _who_ you want to be a—a what? A _father?_" He shook her a final time, his voice taking on a low, sinister caste. "Do I look like someone's father to you?" he hissed. He pressed his face close to hers, forcing her to see his pale skin, the rents under his eyes, the shadows that filled the gaunt hollows of his cheekbones.

"I told you," Dane whispered brokenly, her shoulders hunched and her eyes glazed but meeting his, "I will never…be…afraid…of you."

There was a silence between them and then Jaq released a jagged sigh. He laid her gently on the ground and got to his feet.

"And I told you," he said, pulling out his double-bladed lightsaber and igniting the orange blade, "you should be."

**01:31:56…**

* * *

**Happy New Year! Replies to reviewers are on my homepage. **


	41. Seeking Freedom

**Thanks to my fabulous beta-readers, Miss Becky and Bald as Malak for their time and invaluable insight.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC's and I seemed to have killedoff many of them so...**

**Warning: One f-bomb, no big whoop.**

**Enjoy. **

* * *

**Chapter 41**

**Seeking Freedom**

**Rattatak, Outer Rim…**

A hot, arid wind gusted over the barren landscape, rippling Erdo Tavvar's worn Jedi robes and dusting his longish brown hair with gritty sand. He shielded his eyes with his hand from the late afternoon sun. The dusky light lit up the barren, craggy terrain, bringing out the red in the otherwise gray and drab soil. It was the only time, to Erdo's thinking, that the landscape was anything but ugly and bleak. _Sunrise and sunset. The rest is shit. _

A speck of light streaking across the sky—like a star in motion—caught Erdo's sharp-eyed gaze. He followed its arcing path from the upper atmospheres, down, until the sparkle of it became a silver streak, and then took the definite shape of a cruiser.

"That's him," Erdo said to his companion, stroking his beard, his eyes narrow.

Brus Missil only grunted his assent, and hefted his heavy repeater so that it lay quite visibly over his thick forearm. The setting sun glinted off his bald, ebon-skinned pate but he stared forward, unblinking.

The pair stood in silence as the cruiser landed on the dock which was no more than a smooth, circular clearing amidst the rock and pebble of the rest of the terrain. The cruiser touched down gingerly, as if the hot, dry soil could burn it, and a landing ramp, battered and rusted, descended. _The whole ship is battered and rusted—streaked with carbon scoring, too, _Erdo noticed. _This transport's seen battle. _He wondered if its cargo had as well. He hoped so. _He has to be. They don't make it this far if they're green. _Erdo stroked his beard and kept his eyes trained on the figure that stepped down that ramp.

The man was short and wiry and dressed in a shabby flightsuit and mismatched shields on his sleeves. A small bag containing his belongings was slung over one shoulder. He walked with a light step and the moment his second foot left the ramp and joined the first on the rust-colored soil, the ramp was retracted, the doors slid shut and the transport was off again. _Well, he looks like one of us, _Erdo mused.

"Infantry," Brus Missil muttered in a voice so low it could have come from the ground.

"Maybe," Erdo said and stretched out his senses with the Force.

"Captain Tavvar?" the man asked, his gaze jumping between Erdo and the hulking figure of Brus. When Erdo didn't answer, Brus jerked a meaty thumb at the shorter man beside him.

_There's not a drop of the Force in him, _Erdo thought, concluding his mental scan. "Yep. Infantry," he said to Brus. He turned to the newcomer. "I'm Captain Erdo Tavvar, this is Brus Missil."

"I'm—"

"Niko Manib," Erdo cut in. "We know."

The man named Niko saluted Erdo and then paused as he turned to Brus. The Jedi captain had not offered a rank for the hulking man and none was forthcoming. Niko dropped his hand.

"I trust you had a pleasant journey?" Erdo asked in a plain voice, and began walking. Niko hurried to catch up and Brus fell into place behind them, his shadow dwarfing both men's as they strode eastward. There was nothing on the horizon—no hold or fortress dotting the horizon in any direction. Erdo strode with purposeful steps and Niko followed after.

"Uh, not exactly, sir," he answered with a short laugh, hurrying his strides to keep apace with the Jedi captain.

Erdo smirked. "Made a lot of stops, did you?" If the cruiser pilot had done his job—and Erdo knew he did—Niko Manib would have stopped at every hunk of rock between here and wherever he was recruited from, and not necessarily in order. If he were a spy trying to learn the hyperspace routes, he would have been lost after the first three jumps.

"Yes, sir," Niko confirmed. "It wasn't so bad, except that I was not permitted to leave my bunk. I don't know—"

"Where you went or where you are now," Erdo finished for him. He stopped abruptly and faced the man. "Does that bother you, Niko?"

Niko took an involuntary step back from the Jedi's penetrating stare and met the unyielding wall of Brus Missil. Niko regained his composure and straightened. "No, sir," he said. "I understand the need for ultimate secrecy and discretion. It is an honor just being chosen to come…here," he finished, with an expression that clearly told he wasn't altogether sure where 'here' was. Erdo nodded and began walking again.

"This is Rattatak," he told the new recruit, eyeing him from under his thick brows. He watched as Niko frowned, thinking, and then recalled the name.

"Outer rim, " he muttered, "and uninhabited…"

"Outer rim is right," Erdo agreed with a wry smile. "They don't get any more 'outer' than this rock. But uninhabited…?"

The Jedi captain stopped and knelt beside a helmet-sized rock. He slid it to the right to reveal a tiny console with a keypad on it, protected by a pane of plexiglass. Erdo crouched over the console, allowing his robes to shield it from Niko's sight as he keyed in a code. There was a silence and then a crackle of static.

"Yeah?" came a bored-sounding voice, tinny and small, from the console.

"Captain Tavvar, Brus Missil and cargo," Erdo said.

Niko shifted his weight, peeved at the Jedi's description of him. He looked up to find Brus's cold, unblinking gaze on him and instantly made his expression neutral.

"_This day, this day of wrath, shall consume the world in ashes_," the tinny voice said, suddenly solemn and hard.

"_Nothing will remain unavenged_," Erdo replied.

There was another silence and then a click and a hum. Erdo stepped back from the rock, pulling Niko Manib with him, as the ground began to give way. The gray silt, speckled with red in the light of the dying sun, began to slide away from them downwards and Niko watched as the seemingly solid ground hinged downward and became a ramp that revealed a tunnel cut into the rock. Small, rectangular lights lined the ground, illuminating only the path of the tunnel.

Erdo slid the rock to cover the console and stepped down the ramp. Niko followed next with Brus right behind him. The big man had to crouch over to fit his bulk in the man-made tunnel. The new recruit watched as the ramp raised itself and they were alone in the narrow passageway. Niko looked around for the speaker from the console or whoever had manned the door, but there was no one.

"Don't you worry that the door is now visible?" Niko asked, dusting himself off.

Erdo eyed him up and down. "This is Rattatak. There'll be a sand storm tonight or tomorrow or in the next five minutes and the way will be covered again."

Niko nodded. "And those words you spoke. Sounded awful grim."

"Code," Erdo said and began to walk. "From some ancient text or another."

"It was …different, from other code systems I've heard," Niko said, following Erdo mostly because Brus behind him had begun to walk.

"Don't get attached," Erdo replied. "It's been changed now and will be again within the hour."

Niko nodded and readjusted the strap of his bag. "Of course, of course," he murmured, and the rest of the journey through the twisting, narrow passageway was in silence.

The passage was dimly lit by a series of footlights set along the rough dirt path. Their glow illuminated only the twists and turns of the path, leaving the three in blackness. Erdo walked point with Niko behind him. He didn't worry about having the stranger at his back. Even if Niko turned out to be a spy—and Erdo would not discount that possibility up until initiation—the Jedi captain would die knowing that Brus Missil would finish the man. Erdo's own death was not as important as secrecy.

After ten minutes of walking, the dim light began to give way as the low, overhang of rock relented and a cavern was revealed. The three stepped into the chamber—forty meters by thirty of blasted rock, lit by an assortment of lamps and lighting consoles. Black holes—the mouths of other tunnels—ringed the room, and men and women emerged from some and entered others. To look at them, one would think they had arrived at a refugee camp, rather than a military outpost.

Each person was dressed differently from the next. There were no uniforms, no insignias, no badges that revealed rank or station. Instead, they wore battered and worn flights suits in red, orange and olive green, with blasters tucked into holsters at their waists. Mercenary-looking types strode past in plates of mismatched armor, blasters and carbines strapped to their backs. Others, Jedi, by their shabby robes and the lightsabers clipped to their belts, huddled together and spoke in hushed voices. Despite the disparity of the people's dress, the entire room was filled with an electric energy, the striving toward a common a purpose or goal.

"This is the main hub of the base," Erdo told Niko. "The barracks are there," he nodded, pointing toward each tunnel as he spoke. "The mess is down there, and the chamber in which you will go through initiation is there."

Niko followed where Erdo pointed to the black mouth of a tunnel to the far left of the chamber. He swallowed.

"I can't believe this is here," he said, glancing about chamber where computer consoles and communication terminals were stark, silvery contrasts to the rough stone they were set against. "It must have taken ages to construct. How large, exactly, is it?"

Erdo shrugged. "Don't worry about that now. You'll get the grand tour once you pass the tests."

Niko nodded and smiled. "I'm ready."

The Jedi captain looked him up and down. "You know that once you step into this chamber, you can never go back. If you are found…_honest_ …you will serve until we win or until you die."

Niko nodded again, and took a steadying breath. "I understand."

"Very well," Erdo said, and the three stepped into the chamber.

"It will be an honor to serve Lord Revan," Niko added, his expression solemn and reverent.

Erdo stopped.

Brus Missil hefted his repeater.

"What?" Niko asked, his eyes darting between the two men. "Oh, I'm sorry. Do we not speak of her?" he asked, his voice tremulous.

"Oh, we talk of _Commander_ Revan," Erdo replied. "But even after all this time, it's only the Sith who speak of _Lord_ Revan."

He nodded his head and Brus cocked his repeating blaster. Erdo called upon the Force but Niko, his nervous, bright-eyed demeanor vanishing, slipped a dagger from his sleeve and made to drive it into Erdo's throat. The Jedi Captain got a hand up to block and the knife sliced his palm, deflecting its path. Instead of his throat, the dagger buried itself in the right side of his chest.

Niko wasted no time, but elbowed Brus and dashed into the hall from where they had come.

Erdo collapsed to the ground. From his vantage, he could see the back of Niko Manib grow dimmer as he raced down the path and Brus Missil's hulking form follow after. _Stop him before it's too late! _he wanted to scream but his throat was only capable of agonized groans. Brus was a huge man, slow and lumbering. Niko was spry and quick. The spy would not escape the tunnel and Brus would corner him at the end, but likely not before Niko could relay their location. Erdo closed his eyes. _I'm sorry, Commander…I have failed you, _he thought as the alarm went up, sounding like a woman's keening cry as it echoed down the stony tunnels of the base.

_Easy, Captain, _came the reply, a voice at once smooth as silk and hard as flint. _The last battle is a long time in coming, but I think it is close. Now get up, for you are still needed. _

Erdo gripped the handle of the dagger and yanked it from his chest. Blood poured hot over his hand and down his robes. Other Jedi were around him now, healing him with the Force but Erdo paid them no heed.

"It's too soon," he muttered. "Are numbers are so thin. We are not ready."

_We will be ready, Captain, _said the commander in his mind. _We'll be ready and we'll have help. Be at peace._

Peace. A foreign concept to a man who had fought in the Mandalorian and the Jedi Civil wars, and who had dedicated himself to fighting the Sith out here. But there was nothing to do but obey. Erdo Tavvar got to his feet, aided by others. Those other Jedi, seeing him alive and unhurt, immediately resumed their business. Erdo brushed off his robes and waited for Brus to return with the corpse of the spy.

He didn't wait long.

Niko Manib—whose given name was Marvl Narth, veteran Sith soldier and spy—raced headlong into the blackness of the tunnel. More than once he lost his balance and bounced off the rough rock wall, for the lighting at the base of the path suddenly went out and he heard a high-pitched, though distant keen of an alarm. But the sound of Brus Missil's pounding footsteps, steady and sure as if he'd been born in the dark, prompted Niko on.

He knew how this would end, but he could almost hear his name lauded and honored by the count for his brave and fortuitous sacrifice. He had wanted a greater glory—assassination—but his careless, foolish slip of the tongue cost him that distinction.

Niko bit down hard on the rearmost of his metallic teeth, cracking it. He spit the molar-shaped casing onto the ground and sucked out the homing device that was stored in the hole in his gums. He spat it into his hand, carefully cupping his hand around his chin even as he ran. It was a liquid homing device, one that relied on the life energy of the carrier to fuel it—one that was carried in the blood. Once he had confirmed that Revan was indeed, on Rattatak, he had intended on swallowing the liquid himself, but judging by the sound of Brus Missil's booted steps drawing nearer and the door to the surface hopelessly locked, Niko knew that wasn't to be the case. But how to get the big man to carry it?

Niko only had seconds, but he had always been fast on his heels. His false teeth were good for more than comlink storage…several of them were weapons meant to kill him, had he been discovered during any part of his years-long infiltration of Revan's forces. Still running blindly down the corridor, feeling his way along the wall and listening as Brus drew nearer, Niko bit down on another tooth.

Instantly, his mouth became a bubbling, burning, smoking ruin as the acid leaked into it. A ragged scream tore from his throat and he staggered and fell against the wall. Fortunately, Brus was right there.

The moment Niko felt the big man's hands on him, he turned his head and spat again. Brus did not scream or cry out but grunted only. But Niko knew his aim had been true for he could hear the hissing sound of burning flesh. He raised the hand that still held the liquid—it rolled in his palm like mercury— and slapped it against Brus's chest. The acid ate into his flesh—Niko could feel the holes in the skin—and he smeared the metallic liquid over them.

It was a desperate move and may have worked or not, but Niko was now beyond caring. His lower jaw had all but melted away and Brus Missil, angered perhaps at the acid that was eating into his chest, slammed his fist into the spy's face. The first blow knocked out Niko's front teeth, completing the ruin of his mouth. The second drove bone fragments into his brain. He crumpled to the ground in the blackened tunnel.

Brus, ignoring the searing pain of his chest, hefted the smaller man and began carrying him down the tunnel, back towards the base. By the time he reached the cavern where Erdo waited, the acid had stopped burning him but he was now a walking, talking homing device, his blood carrying the signature and hisown life's energyfueling its transmission.

Far away, on another rock on the Outer Rim, his faint and weak signal was picked up, and the count smiled.

* * *

**Telos, Secret Academy, Polar Regions**

**01:28:44**

HK-47's carbine blasts thundered in the durasteel-lined hangar. Jolee watched as a line of bloody holes opened across Lirik Thrakill's body and he was thrown against one wall. The dark Jedi then slid to the ground, leaving grisly streaks of red on the panel behind him.

"Serves him right," Jolee was about to say, but a pang of pity stayed his tongue. Lirik was still alive, though only barely, and HK-47 cocked his weapon to finish him off. Jolee held up a warding hand.

"Hold, droid," he said, "you've done enough." He slowly approached the dark Jedi and knelt beside him.

Lirik's head rolled on his neck so that he could face Jolee. His face was drawn with pain and his mouth leaked red but his eyes were focused and sharp. _For now, _Jolee thought. He could feel Lirik's life Force and it was ebbing swiftly away.

"There's a bomb," Lirik told him through clenched teeth. "Maybe…more."

Jolee cocked his head. "If I didn't know you as a lying, traitorous, son of a bitch, I'd say that sounded as though you were trying to warn me," he muttered and laid his hands on Lirik's arm.

Lirik snickered and then moaned as his laugh became a cough. "Get your…hands off me, old man," he snarled weakly, but Jolee ignored him.

The old Jedi sent the Force into the young one, searching. A minute passed and while Jolee knew Lirik didn't have many of those left, he did not rush his search. Finally, with a nod and "Mmm hmmm," Jolee released Lirik's arm and gave HK-47 a dirty look.

"I told you not to fire that thing unless I gave the okay," he spat.

"Bewildered Query: Surely not in the heat of battle you would deny me the fulfillment of my core protocols…"

"Shut up," Jolee said and laid his hand's on Lirik again, this time at his shoulder and hand.

"What….are you doing?" Lirik demanded, trying to flinch away from Jolee's touch. All he managed was a twitch of his arm.

"You're not going to get away so easy," Jolee said. "You think telling me there's a bomb or two around makes up for everything you've done? Ha! Not by a long shot, sonny." He closed his eyes and before Lirik could protest further, the old man sent the Force into his body.

Jolee used the system he had discovered on Manaan, but he knew he was not as skilled at it as Dane had become. He was afraid if he tried to do too much, he would alert any who might be listening for such ripples in the Force. Moreover, if he sent too much, he would die. So Jolee did what he could and the wounds that riddled Lirik's body ceased to bleed and the flesh mended itself, if not completely, then enough so that the dark Jedi would live.

When he was done, Jolee got to his feet and ignited his lightsaber, watching Lirik warily.

Lirik looked up at him. "You damnable old bastard," he hissed. "You should have let me go."

"I told you, sonny, you ain't done yet."

Lirik glanced down at himself and shook his head. He gave a rueful laugh and wiped his chin on the sleeve of his robes. "Much good I can do," he muttered. The shot to his leg was still screaming and his shoulder was no better.

"That's your fault for choosing the dark path—can't heal yourself for poodoo with _that _kind of Force," Jolee said and put his weapon away. He offered Lirik his hand. "Now get up and get busy. You said something about a bomb?"

"Confused Interjection: I fear your aged faculties are failing you, elder meatbag. I must point out that this _Sith_ meatbag is actually, in fact, Master's enemy."

Jolee shoved the muzzle of HK-47's carbine away as the droid had leveled it at Lirik again. "I heard you the first time, droid. Stop sticking that thing in his face but don't take your eyes off him neither," the old Jedi said, and then fixed a cold eye on Lirik. "If he tries anything…" he warned.

"Thinly Veiled Threat: If he tries anything, I shall give him another stripe to match the first," HK finished.

Lirik sneered, though without energy. His face was pale and he was clearly in pain. "If you two would shut up for one standard minute, I could perhaps earn my keep by warning you that Jude is on her way here," he muttered. "In fact…"

Jolee felt the dark presence too. He shoved Lirik out of his way and ignited his blue lightsaber just as a small, red-haired woman in form-fitting black robes streaked into the room, her own crimson blade blazing. HK-47 wasted no time but swiveled his carbine in her direction and loosed a barrage of blasts. Jude ducked and rolled, while at the same time constructing a Force barrier to keep the bolts from reaching her.

Jolee felt the barrier go up and he tried to break it with his own Force, but Jude was strong. She came out of her roll and held one hand up in HK-47's direction. Jolee felt the Force again, and before he knew what was happening, the assassin droid froze as it tried to take aim again, and then began to smoke and shudder. The disrupter carbine fell from HK's convulsing hands and sparks flew as the power of Jude's Destroy Droid took affect.

"Systems failing masterrrr," HK lamented before a final, small explosion of ruptured circuits shook his rusted metallic frame, and he crumpled to the ground in a clamor of metal against metal. A puff of smoke emerged from his torso and meandered lazily into the air, but that was the only movement. Sparks jumped in blue-white flashes now and then but otherwise, the droid was silent.

Jolee turned his gaze from the downed droid and leveled it at the Sith woman. "You shouldn't have done that, missy," he said, hefting his lightsaber. "You shouldn't have done that at all."

* * *

Jaq watched as Dane struggled to her hands and knees and began to crawl—slowly—away from the orange shafts of his lightsaber. _Now! Strike now! _Jaq gripped the cylinder in his black-gloved hands. One flick of his wrists and it would be over. She was completely helpless and Darth Tertius was waiting… 

"Too easy," Jaq said, his voice reverberating loudly throughout the chamber. He scowled at the sound, at the tremor in his voice. He laid his boot to Dane's side and shoved her over so that she toppled to the ground.

"Just an act…" she muttered, her eyes glazed but meeting his intently. "So many chances but you don't take them…"

"Shut up," he muttered.

"Even now…" she wheezed, "you cannot do it…"

"I said, shut up!" Jaq thundered. He slammed one of the orange blades into the floor inches from her face. She reared back at the hissing, spitting lightsaber, but did not take her eye off of him. He could feel her gathering her strength. Moment by moment, she was using the Force to cleanse herself of the drug he had given her.

"You are a coward, Atton. You would rather have me kill you than face your crimes," Dane said. "Is that why you spared me again and again?"

Jaq snorted. "You think you're so smart. I didn't _spare_ you, sweets. You're going to die here. If not by me, then by Darth Tertius," he said and nodded his head toward the closed door beyond. _End her now before she is not so helpless, _came a voice.

But instead of ending her life, Jaq withdrew his lightsaber away from Dane's face.

She looked up at him and he thought he had never seen such beauty—but it was twisted and gaunt. There was no affection left in her eyes for him, only a fiery anger that was burning up the glazed, grogginess of the drug he had given her, nearly as fast as the Force did.

"Is it regard for me that stays your hand?" she murmured. "No, I think it is not, though my heart breaks for it. You want me make an end of this…of you…"

Jaq opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off.

"It's bad, isn't it?" she asked him, her voice thick in her throat. "I can only imagine how horrible you must feel. That's why you didn't kill me. You want me to finish you. Well, I won't." Dane tried to get to her feet but she had yet found the strength. "I won't kill you," she said, still on her hands and knees.

"Kill me?" Jaq scoffed. "Look at you! You can't even stand up—"

"I won't kill you," Dane insisted, "unless you try to hurt _her_. Our child…"

Jaq scowled but could find nothing more to say except, "Shut up. I could kill you now." He didn't move.

A small, dry laugh escaped Dane. "It's too late now. I'm stronger," she said, and slowly rose to her feet. She swayed as though drunk, but Jaq could sense the power building in her. He could feel her channeling the Force, infusing the fibers of her being with its energy. She called her lightsaber to her, it having fallen—forgotten—in the corner of the chamber. She ignited the emerald blade and gripped it in her black-gloved hand. Dane stood straight and tall, her weapon humming beside her and she looked at him.

"Now, Atton, what will you do?"

They stood apart, perhaps fifteen paces, each with a glowing lightsaber in their hands. They were silent, motionless, staring at one another across a void Jaq thought was miles long. The truth in her words stung him, left him feeling impotent and weak—two conditions he had never thought would be used to describe and yet he was both, again. He felt a spark of anger and he quickly kindled it for it was as great a defense against her truths and the impossible hope she offered as his lightsaber was. _She is Jedi, _he thought, calling to mind the long ago day when he had come to burned home and a ruined family. _Her fault…_

"No," Dane said aloud, answering his thoughts. "Not mine. I fought that war and even if I hadn't, only those who committed the crime deserve your anger. The rest are dead." There was a silence and then her voice softened. "I am sorry for your loss, but I will not pay for it."

Jaq began to feel as he had during that dream—the horrible sensation of another person behind his eyes, watching everything and screaming in a silent voice for it to end. It was not another personality or being, but himself, looking at Dane, wanting to hold her and protect her and earn her love…instead of making an offering of her to the dark lord who was waiting so close.

_No, it's too late, _he thought. _I can't go back. _Macen's last words came to him, his urging Atton to fix what was broken. _But I have broken too much…_

Jaq's rage flared like a spark tasting dead, dry leaves. _Macen. _Jaq nearly sighed with relief as the conflicting, painful emotions in him were burnt up by the fiery hate that name kindled in him.

"Dead, dead, dead," Jaq said, affecting a jovial tone, and he began walking in a casual, idle circle. Dane did the same, warily, watching him, always keeping him at the same distance. Jaq flipped his lightsaber deftly around his wrist, the orange blades pinwheeling in lazy circles around him. "You know, that reminds me," he said, "I almost forgot, in all the excitement, to tell you I ran into an old friend of yours on Coruscant."

Dane said nothing but he felt her curiosity—like a cold pang of dread in her heart.

"Well, I didn't exactly _run_ into him," Jaq continued, with a roguish grin. "He wasn't in any great shape to be running. Or walking for that matter. As a matter of fact, he really couldn't do more than bleed and try to keep his guts from spilling on to the ground. Sorry to say, he wasn't having too much success on that front either."

"Who are you talking about?" Dane asked, her voice no more than a whisper.

Jaq ceased his pacing and gripped his lightsaber to still it. He snorted a laugh. "Why, Macen Vorn, of course. Who else?"

_Pure pazaak,_ Jaq thought, watching as his words struck her as though they were knives. He resumed his circular course around the chamber, slicing his blades in slow, lazy arcs through the air around him.

"Yes, he was dying of a gut wound. Those are the worst, you know," he told her conversationally.

"You lie," she whispered.

"Mm, I don't think so," Jaq said, and then, through their bond, he felt her pain, her grief for the dead man and he turned that grief into another weapon. He stopped and spun to face her.

"Of course, your heart bleeds for dear old Macen," he said through clenched teeth. "You loved him and don't fucking lie to me. Ever since the barge, since _I nearly died to save you. _And for what? For Macen. You loved Macen. You _still _love Macen and why shouldn't you? He followed you to Coruscant. He wanted to play the hero and save you from your miserable lover who was falling to the dark side. Well guess what, sweets? He's dead. I found him lying in pool of his own blood, shot full of holes. His pain must have been incredible and yet all he could think about was _you."_

"Stop," Dane whispered, but Jaq was relentless.

"I can't stop now, babe," he said with a horrible forced joviality, a rictis grin on a corpse. "You need to know his final words, don't you? Oh, yes, I think you do. I was there to hear them and oh how proud and noble and honorable they were."

"No…" she protested, turning her head away, but her lightsaber trembled in her hands as though it itched to fight.

"His last words, sweets, were all about you," Jaq said, stepping nearer to her, slowly, his voice trembling around every word. "He wanted me to tell you that you made him happy, that he could never give you up, that he was proud to have died for you, serving you like a soldier to his pretty little general…that he_ loved you_ and then," Jaq took a breath and dug his next words into her like a dagger, "and it was then that _I killed him." _

Dane shook her head and sucked in a deep breath. "_You lie!"_ she screamed, and with the speed of a striking viper, she whipped her lightsaber at him.

Jaq dodged the blow, instinctively, but only barely. He felt the white-hot heat of her blade sear his face and a red burn joined the purple scars on his cheek. "Not lying now, sweets," he said, ignoring the pain. "Not this time. Don't believe me? I'll show you…"

And Jaq opened the channel between them, the twisted and shriveled cord of the Force that connected them. He sent to her Macen's last moments, his dying words, and his death as Jaq drove his lightsaber down…

Dane winced but said nothing. No tears rolled down her cheeks, no sobs wracked her body. She merely looked at Jaq and he took an involuntary step back. Her words were soft but he felt her anger, through their bond, like a coil ready to spring.

"Oh, Atton," she murmured, like a soft sigh in the still air of the chamber, a feather floating on a current of her anger. "You think you can fool me? Do you think you can show me only what you want me to see?"

_She still wants to save me. She's holding back her anger because she wants to believe…Fool… _

"I killed him," he insisted.

"The battle killed him. You showed him mercy. Didn't you?"

Jaq opened his mouth to speak, to protest, to lie again, but the words became tangled in his mouth.

Dane looked at him. "Didn't you?"

"Enough talk," Jaq said gruffly. "Drop the noble, never-give-up-though-the-world-is-falling-apart routine. You want to rip my head off and spit down my throat, I know it. Well, come on. Here's your chance." He motioned her forward with one hand and flipped his lightsaber over his wrist with the other. "Let's see what you got."

"I'm not some street thug you can goad into a fight," Dane returned. "I see you, Atton. I see past your terrible words and the hate your are trying so hard to hold on to. They are like your pazaak game—a shield to keep your true self hidden away."

"_True self_," Jaq scoffed. "This is my true self, sweets."

Dane shook her head. "That's a lie. Jaq is what you chose to be. Atton is who you are."

Jaq shrugged. "We'll see," he said and struck at her, experimentally.

Dane blocked his blows with ease and the two circled one another slowly. Again, their blades clashed as Jaq struck out at her, harder this time. She blocked effortlessly but the very fact of his attack struck her to the quick. He could feel her pain like a pulse that throbbed with every swipe of his weapon.

_Gods, this has to end, _he thought. Aloud he said, "That was fun. Let's do it again," and with lightning speed, he attacked Dane.

* * *

**Telos, Polar Regions….**

**01:11:38**

Deke Targan paced the perimeter of the _Ebon Hawk's _hold, one ear listening for a signal from the Admiral from the cockpit's console, the other listening for sounds of battle outside. He didn't expect to hear the latter but he had been trained to pay attention to contingencies. _All this waiting around doesn't help. _Deke liked to think of himself as a man of action—he longed to be inside the Sith stronghold, helping Master Koren, or leading a squadron to bomb it from the air. But his Admiral had given him an order and that overrode any and all personal desires he may have had.

And so Deke paced the perimeter of the _Ebon Hawk's _hold. When the comlink finally sounded, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He raced to cockpit and grabbed the device. "Sir."

"Status, lieutenant?"

"On standby, sir. Nothing's happening here. It's all clear. Should I contact Master Koren? Tell her the air strike is coming?"

"No, I'll be there in five minutes and I'll do it myself."

"Sir?"

"The squadrons are holding above the base," Admiral Onasi said, and Deke heard the first flyby. "They'll take care of business once the ground forces sweep and clear the facility."

Deke's eyes widened. "I thought you were going to raid the base from the air. A ground strike is—"

"They need help, lieutenant. We're going to give it to them."

"Understood sir," Deke said, "Sir, allow me to lead the ground forces. It is too dangerous for you—"

"It's too late, lieutenant," the Admiral said, "I'm already here."  
Deke looked outside the viewports and saw a platoon of Republic soldiers, Carth Onasi among them, creep round the front of the _Ebon Hawk. _

The young man set down the comlink and opened the loading ramp to the freighter. In a matter of moments, he heard the clanking of a dozen booted feet marching into the ship. Deke saluted the Admiral when he entered the cockpit.

"At ease, son," Carth said. "What's her frequency?"

Deke gave it to him and listened as the Admiral attempted to contact the Jedi woman on his own comlink. There was no answer.

Admiral Onasi narrowed his eyes and let the comlink fall. "Well, that settles that. Let's go."

"Sir, wait," Deke said. "You are an admiral in the Republic fleet…." His words trailed as Carth's dark eyes bored into his.

"Yeah? And?"

"Sir, I just feel this mission is too dangerous for you to—"

"Point taken, lieutenant, but I didn't get to be admiral sitting on my duff behind a desk. And besides, this is my damn planet and I'll be hanged before I sit and watch someone else do my job to protect it. Now, are you coming or not?"

The young man made to respond but Carth was already striding out of the cockpit. Deke could do nothing but follow.

* * *

**Telos, Secret Academy, Polar Regions…**

**01:04:52**

The chamber was silent but for the spitting sounds of sparks jumping off the smoking ruin of HK-47. Jolee narrowed his eyes at the dark Jedi woman and gripped his blue blade tightly. He assessed her with the Force and found her a cesspool of hot, blackened energy, like a bubbling tar pit he had once seen on Kashyyyk. But there was fear in her too. It was in her Force and it was written on her expression. Her face was a sneer of arrogant confidence but the old Jedi did not miss her dark eyes darting to the ring of dead Sith growing cool in the center of the room. Jolee watched her too, as her gaze landed on Lirik, and then felt her anger rise along with something akin to relief.

_She's found someone to blame,_ Jolee thought, with a glance at Lirik leaning heavily against the wall. His shoulder left a smear of red on the gun-metal gray of it and more leaked from between his fingers where he held a hand over his lower abdomen. _My healing wasn't near good enough to help him._

"Oh, Lirik," the woman mused, her voice ringing around the chamber. "Fraternizing with the enemy?" She covered her mouth to suppress a mirthless laugh. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to use the word, 'fraternizing.' I wouldn't wish to bring up too many memories of your _dead brother Lanik._"

Jolee could almost feel Lirik flinch but the young man said nothing.

"And who's this?" she asked, her dark eyes meeting Jolee's. "I thought the Jedi Order would at least have the sense enough to institute a mandatory retirement age." Her crimson lightsaber was lit and held casually in her hand but Jolee felt her tense as she readied for battle.

"You Sith are all the same," Jolee said. "You never know when to quit talking and when to just get to it." He rushed towards her, lightsaber swinging.

"Enough talk then," Jude snarled in return and raised up her own crimson lightsaber.

Their weapons crackled as their blades met again and again. The dark Jedi woman fell back under the furor of Jolee's attack, but he found it harder to maneuver in the empty hangar than she did. The bodies of the dead were underfoot and more than once Jolee's balance was thrown by a splayed arm or leg. He was a better swordsman but Jude was younger and more agile, and she smiled a wicked smile of triumph even as he drove her back.

"Tired yet, old man?" she taunted. "Because I can do this all day."

"Aye," Jolee countered, deflecting her low, sweeping cut and driving at her with a flash of blue. "You can…until the bomb goes off."

For a split second, Jude was taken aback by his words. Jolee saw his opportunity and he took it. He slashed his lightsaber to the right, connecting with hers and driving it wide left. This left her completely exposed and Jolee—with a muttered prayer of forgiveness to the Force—quickly reversed his momentum and took a lunging step forward, intending to drive the shaft of his lightsaber through Jude's midsection. But a puddle of blood, spilled from one of HK-47's victims, thwarted Jolee's plans. His booted foot came down on the dark red pool and slipped out from under him. He lost his balance and crashed heavily to the ground, straining one knee as he did. His lightsaber cut a wild arc through the air and Jude dodged it before knocking it out of his hands. It skittered across the floor and was lost from sight under a fallen dark Jedi's black robe.

Jude stared down at Jolee and leveled the tip of her red blade at his neck. "You like my scar?" she asked in a high, breathy voice. She tore the collar of her robe down to reveal a black streak across the pale skin of her neck. "I'll give you one to match," she said and gripped her lightsaber in both hands, intending to drive it through Jolee's neck.

Instead, Lirik, sidling up behind Jude silent and quick as a shadow, tore it from her hands with the Force. He clamped one bloody hand around her mouth and yanked her head back. With the other, he laid a dagger across her smooth white skin.

"The old man was right," he whispered in her ear, "you do talk too much."

Lirik drew back his hand but Jolee, from his prone position on the floor, quickly threw out a Stasis field, freezing Jude and the dark Jedi both, before he could open the woman's throat.

"No, son," Jolee told Lirik as he painfully got to his feet. "That is not the way." He pried the dagger from Lirik's hand, ignoring the scathing glance from the young man and the glittering, frightened eyes of the woman. Jolee loosened the Stasis on Lirik enough for the young man to speak.

"I am not trying to be you, old man," Lirik seethed through clenched teeth.

"I should hope not," Jolee replied. He released Lirik completely from the Stasis, but left Jude rigid and trapped. "But you don't want to be like her, either."

Lirik staggered back, scowling. "She'll kill you when she's free," he spat. "She won't hesitate…"

"Well then I had better not give her the chance, eh?" Jolee mused. He met Lirik's eyes and held them.

Lirik returned his gaze defiantly, but only for a few moments. "Fine," he muttered, and limped forward. "There's a prison room just off this one. You can stick her in one of the Force cages and let the bomb finish her off."

Jolee smirked. "Well, that's a start," he chuckled and was silenced as Lirik, with surprising agility, lunged forward and grabbed the old Jedi by the lapels of his robe.

"Let's get one thing straight, old man," Lirik seethed. "I'm not your friend. I tried to kill her because doing so would have fulfilled a lifelong ambition of mine. It wasn't to help you. I'm not—"

"Get your hands off me, boy," Jolee said irritably, shoving Lirik away. "You got some nerve threatening me" The old Jedi jabbed his finger into Lirik's chest as he spoke, driving the younger man back. "If anyone's going to get some things straight, it's going to be _you._ You caused a lot of problems for some people I care about and the only reason you're still alive is because I know you tried to help me and that infernal droid, and don't pretend you didn't. You may be able to hide behind some tough words but you can't hide behind the Force. And yes, you were about to kill this Sithspawn lass here—so was I, truth be told—but you would have regretted it, and you know it."

A small, tight smile appeared on Lirik's face. "Hardly. I would have enjoyed watching her die."

"Uh huh," Jolee snorted. "What they do during your training? Pull you aside and teach you villainous proclamations? Well, you can just cut that out. You're going to help me find Dane and then you're going to help _her_, and depending on how that goes, I'll decide if you still deserve to have my boot shoved up your ass. After that? We'll see."

Lirik made as though to protest, but only nodded sullenly. Jolee eyed him up and down and with the Force. _He's agreeing with me mostly because he's too beat up to fight back. _A part of Jolee whispered that he had gone mad the second he healed Lirik instead of letting the man die. _He's a bastard and a miscreant, but there's a shred of light in him yet. Bah! Just get out of this alive and then take him to Coruscant—let Visas deal with him. _

Jolee shook his head and pulled himself from his thoughts. "Right then. First things first. You're going to help me get this one into that Force cage you were talking about." He jerked a thumb at Jude and both men turned to look at the woman.

Jude was still stuck in Jolee's Stasis, looking like a badly posed sculpture. Her back was arched from when Lirik had grabbed her from behind and her arms were frozen at awkward angles from where she had moved to defend herself.

"That can't be comfortable," Jolee muttered, stepping towards the woman. "And now it's your turn to listen, lass. I'm going to release you from this Stasis and when I do, I don't want any funny business, you hear me?"

"Blink once for 'yes' and twice for 'no'," Lirik muttered darkly, moving to stand beside Jolee. He met the old man's eye. "What?"

"You're not helping."

"Oh fine, have it your way."

Jolee sighed. "I've traded one smart-mouthed fool for another," he muttered. "At least the droid had an 'off' button." He turned back to Jude. "Are we on the same page, lass? Because time's a wasting." Jude could only stare in return. He took Jude's deactivated lightsaber and tucked it securely into his belt at the small of his back. "Be ready," Jolee told Lirik.

The younger man scowled, but he called his lightsaber to his hand and ignited the crimson blade. Jolee did the same with this weapon and the released Jude from the Stasis.

The woman slumped over to ease the pain from her back and fixed both men with fiery stares. "It would seem your traitorous inclinations know no bounds," she spat at Lirik. "Your brother would be appalled."

Jolee felt Lirik's grief and rage well up and the old man held up his hand. "Be easy, son," he told him and to Jude he said, "and you shut up. We're not going to listen to your talk. Start walking, lass, before I change my mind and allow your former associate to give you a second smile." He leveled his cyan blade at the woman.

Jude did not release Lirik from her hate-filled gaze but she said nothing more. Grudgingly, haltingly, the small party made their way across the corpse-strewn floor of the hangar.

Jolee kept his attentions wholly focused on Jude, sensing for the smallest shift in the Force that would alert him to any treachery. But as they neared HK-47's motionless hulk, Jolee's attention faltered. Jude wasted no time but surged forward. She shoved Jolee aside and he fell heavily, his injured knee betraying him. Lirik was quick to act but his injured body was slower to obey. He swung his lightsaber at her but his swing went high as she ducked. At the same time, she called to her hand a fallen Sith's vibrosword and came out of her duck with the blade swinging.

Lirik was thrown off balance by his errant blow. The injuries to his leg and groin stole his grace and he could not regain his footing in time to dodge Jude's humming strike. The razor-sharp blade of the vibrosword cut a path down his face from cheek to chin. Lirik cried out and fell to his knees, one hand to his face, the other weakly holding up his lightsaber to block Jude's killing blow.

Jolee tried to throw another Stasis, but Jude had barricaded herself behind the Force.

"Oh, damn," Jolee muttered. He tried to hurry and get up but he was too slow and his knee was too weak. _And so that boy is going to die. I am a fool…_

But Lirik, bloodied and broken though he seemed, was not done yet. Jude advanced and he blocked her arcing blow with one hand and thrust out his other hand—the one that had been pressed to his cheek. He cast a large smattering of his own blood at her, splattering it across Jude's face, at her eyes, blinding her.

"You bastard!" she screamed.

"Why Jude," Lirik said weakly, his hand still pressed to his face, blood seeping from between his fingers, "I just wanted you to taste the fruits of your labors."

Jude's reply was a disgusted shriek as one hand frantically wiping at her face, the other blindly flailing her sword in wild arcs to keep him at bay. But the helplessness she exhibited was a ruse.

Jolee, as he got to his feet and stepped toward her to help Lirik, felt the woman call on the Force. Jolee went flying backward as though a strong wind had surged into the hangar. The back of his head struck hard, durasteel floor and he was momentarily dazed. Lirik was blown the opposite direction and he landed heavily, the breath forced from his body.

"Fools!" Jude cried, still pawing madly to get Lirik's blood out of her eyes, for her disgust at that was no farce. "I'll split you both from throat to thigh." She spat the threat, almost by rote, and then steadied herself.

Lirik got painfully to his feet on one side of the hangar, Jolee on the other. Even from where he stood, the old Jedi could see the crimson slash across the young man's face. Jolee raised his blue blade, Lirik his red and Jude stood in the center of the room between them.

The dark Jedi woman held her the vibrosword in both hands, and while she was conscious of Jolee as he began to approach her, it was Lirik to whom she directed her wrath.

"Darth Tertius shall know of your treachery," she told him. "When he is done with the Exile he will come for you, for I will not kill you. You'll wish I had—you'll wish that I left you as I will leave the old man, a corpse and nothing more. But I will spare your miserable life and when Darth Tertius is finished with you, the count will take his turn, and all you will know for the rest of your life is pain."

"Jude," Lirik said, slowly crossing the distance between them. "Shut up."

He struck out then with the Force—a blue crackle of lightning streaming from his bloodied hand. _There's plenty of dark in him still, _Jolee thought, drawing closer.

Jude held up her own hand and blocked Lirik's attack and Jolee—who was closer to Jude than Lirik— took the opportunity to attack. He lunged forward as fast as his knee would allow and brought his blade down in a slicing arc. Jude pivoted on her heels and blocked the blow. Their blades met in a short series of clashes while Lirik came up behind her. Jolee's eyes flickered to Lirik and back again, giving up their advantage instantly by alerting Jude to Lirik's presence. Jolee cursed under his breath at this lapse and then found himself utterly frozen—caught in a Stasis field of Jude's own design.

_I suppose this is it,_ he thought, for he was completely helpless, but Jude hadn't time to finish him off.

She spun to face Lirik just as his lightsaber came at her, clearly aimed at sweeping her head from her shoulders. Jude raised her vibrosword just in time to block his blow, but Lirik had all the momentum. He knocked the sword from her hands but his snarl of triumph was short-lived, for Jude nimbly thrust out with the Force and his lightsaber followed her sword to the floor. Both weaponless, the two attacked one another with flailing fists.

Jolee could only watch as Jude was reduced to a slapping, scratching fury as she and Lirik grappled in the center of the hangar. The young man managed to catch her wrists, wrenching them strong enough to draw a cry from her. He pinned her to him.

"You've slapped me for the last time, Jude," Lirik seethed and Jolee could see the woman flinch back from the terrible fury in his eyes. The rent she had made in his cheek bled freely, leaving crimson streaks across his skin, marring his beauty and giving him an almost feral appearance.

"Fool," she breathed, her voice tremulous. "You are caught, same as me. You have forsaken the Sith…You are powerless…weak. You can do nothing but let me go and then we'll start again."

Lirik shook his head, and the hatred in his eyes turned melancholy. "No, Jude. It's over," he said and Jolee, from his prone position, watched as Jude suddenly stiffened in Lirik's arms. He felt the Force—the dark and blackened side of it—flow from Lirik and into Jude and then he knew what was happening. _So be it, _he thought. _He has no choice._ _There is still hope…_

Jude tried to pull away from Lirik but he held her in a vise-like grip and concentrated on the stream of energy he directed at her. Her mouth opened but no sound came out. She could only gape for air but none was forthcoming. The Force Choke Lirik assaulted her with was crushing her windpipe and she could do nothing but gaze into his eyes, pleadingly, and struggle to breathe.

The Stasis that held Jolee was lifted, as Jude could not maintain it. He took up his lightsaber and deactivated it. He tucked it into his belt and stood silent as Lirik slowly killed Jude.

"I'm sorry, Jude," Lirik told the woman, whose face was turning a ghastly shade of blue. He released her wrists and she fell to her knees, clutching at her throat. "Things are different now," he told her, his tone matter-of-fact—a striking contrast, to Jolee's thinking, to the formidable appearance of him.

Lirik stood over her, a specter of death in black robes that were damp with blood. He held out one bloody hand focused at her throat, and his face was pale and gaunt under the crimson gash. Jude made terrible choking sounds and Jolee closed his eyes, praying for it to end. He therefore did not see as one of her hands left her throat, called the vibrosword to her hand and she weakly tried to stab Lirik with it. Jolee heard a flurry a movement, a scraping of steel and a sickly sound of punctured flesh. He opened his eyes and was startled to see Jude, still kneeling at Lirik's feet, but with a vibrosword buried in her chest and protruding out the other side.

"That was for Lanik," Lirik told her, his hand still on the hilt of the sword. "And this is for _me_," he said and in one swift motion, he withdrew the sword from her chest and sliced it across her throat.

Jolee watched in a kind of fascinated horror as she crumpled in a heap; a small woman whose dark robes fluttered around her and drank from the pools of her own blood. Lirik let her fall and then staggered back, swaying on his feet.

"I told you," he said, unable to meet Jolee's eyes. "I told you…" he said, a went down on one knee, the strength draining out of him.

The old Jedi glanced down at the body of the Sith woman. He heaved a sigh. _This is how it always seems to end for them,_ he thought. He looked at Lirik. _Or like him. Bloodied and half-dead for their folly but not lost yet. Not yet…_

"It's okay, son," he told Lirik. "Let's get this over and done with. Where is Dane?"

Lirik raised his head and tilted his chin in the direction of the hangar door. "With Jaq," he replied. "In the meeting chamber."

Jolee nodded and summoned the Force. He felt the pain in his knee ease and then he looked to Lirik. The wounds HK-47 had opened in him were bleeding anew and the horrid gash across his cheek colored his neck and collar red. Jolee channeled more of the Force to Lirik. The young man stood up, his wounds better but not healed. The rent on his face ceased to bleed but he would be scarred for life. _But I haven't the skill to do more for him, and even if I did, it may be safer to keep him a bit hobbled yet. _

"Why are you wasting your energy on me?" Lirik asked. His tone was part exasperation, part disbelief.

"I already told you," Jolee replied, calling his lightsaber to his hand. "You're not done yet."

Lirik looked away, shaking his head. "I've done enough. I did mention earlier that there is a bomb, didn't I?"

"Aye," Jolee nodded. "So _we'd_ best hurry."

Lirik narrowed his eyes. "All right, let's go. But I have other things to do, you know—other plans," he complained, but fell in step beside Jolee as they navigated the corpse-strewn hangar. The pair paused by the smoking wreckage of HK-47 and Jolee shook his head.

Lirik gripped his shoulder where one of the assassin droid's bolts had torn through his skin. "Can't say that I'm sorry," he said.

Jolee sighed "Never thought I'd say it, but I can. I can indeed."

* * *

**00:55:29**

The chamber was filled with the heavy, whirring sounds of lightsabers cutting air and the crashes of those blades coming together.

"You say you won't kill me, but you keep attacking," Jaq commented. He whipped his lightsaber at her, letting the first orange blade cut high. He then twisted his wrist and the second blade sliced low. Dane dodged them both.

"And I sense you want to die, yet you won't lay down your weapon," she returned, hauling her green-bladed lightsaber upwards with both hands. It clashed with his and the force of her strike drove his blade up and out in a wild arc. Dane brought up her foot and drove it into his stomach, pushing him back.

The air whooshed out of Jaq and he staggered backwards, but did not fall. "You've got me confused with someone else, babe," he sneered. "It's not me I want dead."

He charged at her, his double bladed weapon a blur of fiery orange light. He spun his weapon at her, his twin blades wheeling down to strike in quick succession. Dane, holding her lightsaber in both hands, blocked every whirling blow, and Jaq retreated. The two resumed their circling of one another, both breathing heavily, both using the respite in the battle to gather their strength.

"If that is true, and you were to defeat me," Dane said, "you know that I would not die alone. Your child…"

Jaq's expression darkened. "Shut up!" he spat. "I don't have a child. You lied to me. A Jedi trick…"

"She is no Jedi trick," Dane said.

Jaq seemed at a loss but then his gray-green eyes narrowed and the hateful gleam came back to them. "Then the kid is Macen's, eh?" he said.

Dane paled. _Gods, he is so far gone…Where is the Atton I loved? _"No, not Macen…" she said, her voice choked by anger, grief and the sheer frustration. _It is like looking into Atton's familiar face but hearing a monster speak from his mouth. _

A cold, wicked grin touched Jaq's lips. "Yeah, that's it. I should have known--you've been fucking him since day one." Jaq laughed a mirthless laugh. "But I killed him, and so you've come to me for what? Child support?" He laughed again and Dane's gripped her lightsaber so tightly her fingers ached.

"You are making it very difficult for me to want to save you, Atton," she said through clenched teeth.

Atton—or Jaq—or whatever twisted thing he had become, only laughed again.

"That's it, isn't it? You're trying to foist the kid off on me? Well, what happens after it's born and it has your hair, and your eyes and a three-day stubble of beard on its fat little chin? You could maybe play that off, sweets, but when the little whelp learns to talk and it's first word is 'honor' or 'loyalty', or 'pitiful, blind, bald-faced devotion,' then the jig will be up, won't it?"

Dane's vision clouded with rage at the intolerable desecration of Macen's memory, at the perversion of their friendship, and at the contempt Jaq showed for his own child's conception. Before she knew what was happening, she charged him, levying her lightsaber at him in a barrage of brutal, flurrying attacks. The smile slipped from his face in surprise but returned, pleased, as they fell back into the rhythm of battle.

"That's enough, Atton," Dane hissed, striking at him again and again. A voice in the back of her mind asked her what she would do if her blade broke through his defenses, if she cut him or maimed him or killed him. She had no answer. _I just want this to end, _she thought, and then gave voice to it. "No more," she said aloud.

"No…I _want_ more," Jaq said, even as she drove him back…and so Dane gave him more.

Her attacks were relentless, her flurries lightning quick. It was only a matter of time before she _did_ break past his defenses. Jaq knew it too—she felt him draw the Force to Speed his parries or else she would have cut him to ribbons. But still she did not stop. A kind of madness took over her and she drove him back and back, around the chamber. _I will burn this evil out of him. I have to make it stop…or I'll kill him. _

Her thoughts were dark and frightening but a voice spoke up and reminded her she was no longer a Jedi; she was not bound to any Code. And that made it worse. _An exile again, cut off from the Order, the Council, everything. Cut loose. Cut adrift into the blackness of space until Revan pulls me in. _

Dane swung her blade left, right, and then left again. Jaq parried but he was tiring. Dane was not.

_Revan will take me in and then I will serve as her general, again, as it was. _

Jaq stumbled and barely got his blade up in time to block the blow that would have cleaved his shoulder in two, and still Dane did not stop. Tears sprang to her eyes for it was Atton's face she could see behind the orange and green blurs of their battle…and then were burned away again when Jaq sneered and spat a curse.

_Revan will have me and then…NO! _

Dane stopped. She dropped her arms to her side, her lightsaber's tip scorching the floor of the chamber. _It is _I_ who seek Revan, not as her general, not as an exile…_

Jaq, exhausted, panting, and dripping with sweat, stumbled at the sudden cessation of action, and slumped against the wall.

Dane closed her eyes, feeling the Force within in her, feeling her child's own vibrant energy lending its power to her. _I will serve so that this war will end and my daughter shall never know what it is to touch the dark side…_

"Well?" Jaq wheezed. "What are you waiting for?" he screamed hoarsely in the empty chamber.

_To stop the pain, to stop the madness…and here, a kind of madness._

She looked at Atton and wanted to weep for the broken man she saw before her—a man with shadows dancing around his soul and a heart blackened by sin. _And even so, he is not lost, but I cannot save him. I have my own wound to heal. I will end this, all of it, and then my daughter and I will be free…_

Dane looked into his haunted eyes, saw the pain and grief there, saw the mute appeal in them, for he wanted an end as well. _And so he shall have it. _

"I love you, Atton," she said, and then severed the bond between them.

**00:43:13…**

* * *

**A/N: ****It's important to site references when using others' works: The code Erdo speaks to get into the Rattatak base are lyrics from the Latin Requiem, and a line of Atton's dialogue to Dane was"borrowed" from a reviewer's comments that I thought were particularly well-said. ;) **

**I haven't done replies to reviewers, it's late and I'm tired. But I thank each and every one of you for your comments. You drive this forward and give me the energy to keep it up. Thank you a trillion times over and once more for seeing this behemoth to its end...whenever the heck that is.:) ****You're the best. **

**Cheers, **

**Trillian**


	42. Where His Loyalties Lie

**A/N: Huge hugs to my glorious beta-readers, Miss Becky for chasing down my run-on sentences and for being my emotional gauge, and to Bald as Malak for keeping me honest and for flat-out challenging me to be a better writer. **

**Side note:Occasionally, a type-o or other error makes its way into a chap. Because of the gloriousness of my beta-readers, it is likely one or both of them has caught the type-o and informed me about it. So if you see any, that's all me. ;) **

**Disclaimer: Not mine, but while I'm sitting at my 9 to 5 I sure wish it was.**

**Enjoy. **

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* * *

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Chapter **42 **

**Where His Loyalties Lie**

**Telos, Secret Academy, Polar Regions…**

**00:43:12...**

"Stop, stop, stop," Jolee groused as he and Lirik made their way out of the hangar and into the interior of the Academy.

"What now?" Lirik asked with a sigh.

"My old bones hurt just looking at you, all bent over and pitiful," Jolee said. He laid his hands on Lirik's arm and channeled the Force into him.

"Will you cut that out?" Lirik snapped, breaking free. "I'm fine. Just leave me alone."

Jolee glanced at the younger man's scowling face and snorted laughter. "Well, if you'd _lighten_ up a bit you'd be able to do this yourself," he snickered. _When, oh, when did I start _enjoying_ this rascal's company?_

Lirik rolled his eyes. "Please. Spare me the pitiful attempt at humor. You just healed me—you want to turn right around and make me sick?"

Jolee just chuckled some more and the two resumed their march. Lirik still wasn't completely healed—HK-47's weapon had done its job well and Jolee hadn't the skill to facilitate a full recovery—but the bleeding had stopped and some color had returned to his face. Despite their dire circumstances, Jolee couldn't stop smiling and chortling to himself until Lirik stopped, and the old man had to contort his body to keep from crashing headlong into the younger.

"For the love of—! What in the name of Malak's sparkling chin are you doing?" Jolee complained but Lirik didn't seem to hear him. The two had passed a pane of plexiglass that served as a window to a control room and Lirik was caught by the reflection of his own image in it.

He put a hand up to his torn cheek. "Lanik and I used do jobs where our resemblance was vital to the mission," he said quietly. "If he were here now, he'd be angry with me since now people can tell us apart."

Jolee laid a gnarled hand on the younger man's shoulder. "You know, son," he said quietly, "I think now, even without that gash, I'd know who was who."

Lirik glanced at Jolee's hand on his arm. The tiniest flicker of a smile touched his lips before his expression hardened again. "Yeah, well, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather have him back and things the way they were," he said, shrugging off Jolee's touch.

"You sure about that?"

Lirik turned away. "Let's just get moving. I've got things to do, you know," he said and resumed his shuffling gate out of the hangar.

"You keep saying that," Jolee remarked, following after. "What, you got a hot date or something?" _You sure do, _he added silently, _with Visas Marr on Coruscant. _Jolee chuckled again.

Lirik said nothing as they had arrived at the second of the Academy's three chambers, and then the pressing nature of their situation stilled the older Jedi's laughter. He could hear the unmistakable sound of lightsabers clashing in the behind the door, intermixed with low, serious voices.

"That's them," Jolee said and went to open the door. "We have to help Dane."

"Wait," Lirik said, gripping the old man's arm. "Do you feel it?"

Jolee froze and then shivered, for it felt as though someone had just cloaked him in a shroud of ice. "Force help us…" he breathed.

"It's Tertius," Lirik said. "He's in the last chamber—the one that is connected to this one. And he's awake."

"Well, then let's get in there and help…"

"Suit yourself," Lirik said. "If you want to jump in there and get killed, be my guest." He started limping back toward the main section of the base until Jolee grabbed him.

"Where do you think you're going? You're going to help!"

Lirik tore his arm from Jolee's grip. "I _am_, if you'd only let me. I can't fight like this," he said, gesturing at his torn and bloody robes that covered a torn and bloody body. "I'm going to lock the door between the chambers to keep Tertius away from your little blond Jedi. That should buy you some time to get her and Jaq out. I figure that's worth five whole minutes without a lecture from you."

Jolee blinked as Lirik continued eastward, back the way they had come. He fought the urge to follow after to make sure Lirik was going to keep his word. _There couldn't be a worse time to have to trust him than right now,_ he thought, but there was no time. Dane needed him. He turned to the door…and found it locked. He ignited his lightsaber and tried it on the door once or twice. The metal buckled and the electronic hinges sparked but it would not open. Jolee quickly deactivated his weapon and cursed under his breath for he did not want to jam it unwittingly. That left one option.

"Well, if that don't beat all," he muttered and chased after Lirik.

He found the young man bent over a console, pondering what he saw there.

"Killed the bad man and saved the girl already?" Lirik asked, not looking up.

"It's locked."

"As far as I can see, it's the only one that is."

"Lock the back one where that Tertius is," Jolee urged.

"That's the plan," Lirik replied dryly and laid his slender fingers over the console.

Jolee scowled. "No, not that one!"

Lirik punched a button and the console showed red at every door on its schematic. The two could even hear the sliding and heavy bang, as every door in the facility that was open, closed and locked tight.

"There," Lirik said, pleased. "The door to the Meditation Chamber is locked. It isn't much, but it may buy us some time to get your Exile out of there."

"Aye, but she's also locked in that chamber, and we're trapped in here," Jolee said. "You just put us in total lockdown," he said, pointing at the console that happily confirmed—in big red letters—the truth of his words.

Lirik heaved an impatient sigh. "You said to lock the doors, so I locked the doors," he fumed. "Fine, I'll try to override the system."

"Do a _partial_ lockdown."

"Who ever goes into a _partial _lockdown?" Lirik asked irritably.

"You Sith," Jolee returned. "It's always all or nothing with you. Just lock the doors we want locked an unlock the doors we don't."

"It's not like I've been stationed here for months," Lirik muttered, scanning the console again. "I don't know what does what any more than you do."

"Then what good are you?" Jolee spat.

"Now, _that's_ an excellent question," Lirik returned pointedly.

"Don't start with me, boy. Unlock the door or I will."

"Be my guest," Lirik said, moving aside.

Jolee hesitated but the younger man's eyes were on him, so he stepped forward. "Can't be too difficult," he muttered. "Keep one door locked, open the others. It's not rocket science, after all." Jolee rubbed his chin and looked over the buttons, panels, levers, and keys on the console and affected an expression that tried to conceal how bewildered he was by all of it.

A few moments passed. "How's it coming?" Lirik asked in a light, conversational tone.

"Will you just shut up for three standard seconds so I can concentrate?"

Lirik crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the table. "Take your time, grandpa. It's not like there's a bomb—and likely more than one—counting down the seconds to our destruction."

"Well, if it blows, we'll have you to thank for locking us all in," Jolee muttered. "Aha!" He jabbed one round, flat button…and the lights went out. Only the glow of the various consoles, the winking lights in green, white and red, gave the room illumination. But there was light enough to see the bemused smirk on Lirik's face.

"Hmm," Jolee muttered, not looking at the younger man. "I guess that wasn't the right one."

"You think?" Lirik asked, eyebrows raised. He went to shove Jolee aside. "My turn."

"Oh, no you don't," Jolee replied, shoving back. "I can figure it out, I just hit the wrong one."

"You'll only every hit the _wrong one_," Lirik complained. "This is it here," he said, and keyed a button.

"You trying to get us all killed?" Jolee asked, as he pressed a few buttons of his own.

The lights came back on, a heating unit started up, an air purifier turned off, and a recorded announcement cheerily informed them that it was time for dinner.

"See, now you're just doing that on purpose," Lirik said, with a shove for Jolee.

The old man shoved back. "Says you. You haven't done anything but bleed all over everything."

The two men continued to scuffle until the pounding of footsteps echoed around the Academy. They froze as the room filled with Republic soldiers, each one with a blaster aimed at the pair.

Jolee relaxed, a relieved smile spreading over his face as Admiral Onasi entered the room, but the dark Jedi paled and kept his hands in plain sight.

"Well, it would appear we got the front door unlocked," Lirik muttered as Republic troops swarmed all around them.

"_Partial_ lockdown," Jolee muttered triumphantly out of the corner of his mouth.

Lirik sighed.

* * *

Jaq hadn't realized how strong his and Dane's bond was until she has snapped it. Suddenly, he felt hollow—or more hollow than he had before. She was standing not more than ten paces from him, but Jaq had never felt so utterly _alone_, and, for the first time since he'd donned the robes of a dark Jedi, he was suddenly and horribly _afraid. _A strange kind of panic was welling up in him, even as his strength ebbed away. It was as if that black crevice he had plummeted into had revealed its rocky, jagged bottom, and it was rising up to meet him faster and faster with every passing moment. The bond between he and Dane had seemed like a lifeline, one that would always show him the way out and keep him from ever hitting that bottom. But now it was gone and he was falling… 

"Feel better?" he managed to wheeze in between breaths. Their fighting had drained his energy, but the severing of their bond had finished him off. His muscles turned to water and he slid down the durasteel wall and sat, his long legs sprawled out before him. He deactivated his lightsaber and held the cylinder loosely in his lap. "Is that what you came here to do? Cut off the dead weight?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"No," Dane whispered, and Jaq saw in her face that the severing had taken its toll on her too. _Good. I hope it hurt. I hope it hurt her as much as it hurt me. _

"I came here to tell you about your child, and to make sure the Sith Lord you now serve does not leave here alive," Dane said hollowly.

"Well, thanks for the newsflash on the first point, but I think I'll wait for the paternity test results, if it's all the same to you," he said.

Dane flinched but said nothing. _Good,_ he thought again. _She thinks she can cut me off so easy. I'll _make _her hurt. _But his thoughts did little to assuage the fear that had settled over him like a cloak of needles.

A muffled, sizzling sound came from the western door and both Jaq and Dane turned to see it buckle slightly. Sparks flew from the mechanisms that opened it, but the door remained shut.

"You going to answer that?" Jaq asked and wheezed a laugh. _Ah, insanity. Finally putting in an appearance. A little late, by my calculations… _He sighed and looked at Dane who was looking at him.

"Why isn't the Sith Lord coming for me?" she asked.

"My initiation test," Jaq said and then swallowed hard. "It's waiting for me to kill you. I have… orders to kill you."

Dane's expression was unreadable. "And if you don't?"

Jaq drew his finger across his throat. "For both of us. So for the last time, get out of here. If you fight it, you will lose. Trust me on that one."

'_Trust me,' I say. What a crock. _Instinctively, without thinking, Jaq tried to show her the truth of his words through their bond. He tried to send her the sensation of utter hopelessness he had felt on the street of Coruscant when Darth Tertius had approached. But there was no bond between them now—no way to show her that or anything else. Jaq slumped further down the wall. His fear subsided into a numbness…the jagged bottom was fast approaching.

"I won't fight the Sith Lord, not if I can help it," Dane said. She lifted her wrist to her mouth. "Lieutenant Targan, do you read?" she said into a comlink affixed to her sleeve. The response was static. "Lieutenant Targan, this is Dane Koren, do you read?"

Jaq watched as she tried her comlink several more times, each time hearing only empty static in return.

"They can't hear you," Jaq muttered. "This place is buried under five meters of snow. It's a _tomb_," he said. "Ironic, don't you think?"

Dane opened her mouth to reply and then shut it again. He watched her as she closed her eyes and laid one hand over her stomach, the other clutching her lightsaber so tight, it trembled in her hand.

"Decisions, decisions, eh? To leave the scoundrel to rot with his own crimes, or try to make him see the light? What a quandary," Jaq said dully, without energy. "Your friends will be along, I'm sure. I only saw the Admiral the one time, but he looked sufficiently Macen-like…enough to stupidly risk life and limb to come here and rescue you. What? You got a thing for him to?"

The impression of falling rapidly towards the rock bottom of the black hole he had been cast into came again, each word he spoke to her speeding his descent. _Good. Let's get this over with. _He didn't know why or where or how he'd lost his energy for serving the Sith. Years ago, under Revan, it had been so easy. _But now, she's changed everything. Like the last Jedi woman I killed, the one who showed me…_As he did then, Jaq now felt trapped. He couldn't go forward and the way back was too long and difficult and paved with the evil deeds he had done._ I'm so tired of feeling this way. I'm still the village idiot who can't do anything right. Hell, I'm not even a good assassin anymore. I'm nothing. Just…nothing. _

Jaq closed his eyes and listened as Dane's booted steps moved away from him and toward the sparking door that led to the western chamber.

"Goodbye, Atton," she said, her voice tremulous. He could imagine her luminous blue eyes shining with unshed tears, but he kept his own tightly shut. _And she's still calling me 'Atton.'_

"You can come with me, you know," she said softly—so softly, Jaq almost hadn't heard.

"No, babe, I don't know that," Jaq said, and despaired at the tiny flicker of hope her words ignited in him. _Stop, it's too late. It's too late. _He swiveled his head around and looked at her. _I was right about the tears in her eyes. Gods, she's beautiful. _

"Dane? Do me a favor, will you?" he asked, his voice rough and low.

"What?" Her own voice was hardly more than a whisper.

"Don't tell the kid about me."

He heard her sharp, pained gasp and then that name again, like a moan. "Atton…"

"Don't tell her what I was, okay?" Jaq said. "Just say I was a pilot and that I died in a crash. It's not a lie. I _did _crash. I crashed and burned…"

Jaq's words trailed away and he squeezed his eyes shut, blocking her out, blocking everything out. _I'll just get some rest and if Darth Tertius is merciful, I just won't wake up…_

* * *

**00:31:33**

Darth Tertius sat, still and silent, in the Meditation Chamber. All three heads were bowed and all three had laid a pale hand over the lightsaber resting beside them on the arms of their chairs. The chamber was dim and shadowy and lined with holocrons that whispered an incessant language of hate and death. The sounds of a lightsaber duel were clearly heard coming from the next chamber. And then the clashing and hissing of the weapons was silenced. The center figure raised his head.

"The Exile is not dead," he muttered.

On either side of him, the robed figures raised their own heads.

"How much time do we have?" he asked the figure to his left.

"_Thirty-one minutes, seventeen seconds and counting," _it replied.

"**Time enough to end the Exile and punish he who has failed us again**," snarled the figure to the right.

"Indeed," said the center. He made to rise, his clones following suit in perfect unison, when a blood red, pyramid-shaped holocron lying on a table to Darth Tertius' right, began to hiss and crackle.

With a wave of his hand, the Darth Tertius used the Force to draw the holocron from its table. It glided through the air and came to rest in his hands.

"Yes, my lord," he said.

"We have learned Revan's location, my pet," said the count. His voice sounded hushed and sibilant as it came through the holocron, but there was no mistaking his excitement and impatience. "She is on Rattatak."

Darth Tertius absorbed this information and allowed his enhancements to display his own eagerness and anticipation. The strength enhancement dug its fingers into the armrests of its chair, bending and warping the metal as though it was clay. The intelligence enhancement froze, its advanced computing systems already plotting the course of hyperspace routes they would need to take. It sent the information to the navicomputer of the freighter that waited to take them off Telos once the Exile was dead.

"Excellent, my lord," Darth Tertius replied. "We shall leave as soon as the Exile is finished."

"Why hasn't that been accomplished already?" The count's ire was clear as day through the holocron, but short lived. "No matter. What is the Exile in comparison to Revan? Leave there, and go to Rattatak at once."

"I dislike leaving enemies alive," Darth Tertius explained. "Better to kill them now than later, after they reappear at my back."

"Fine," hissed the count. "Finish your business quickly and then get to Rattatak. The traitorous harlot may jump at any time. Signal me when you are close and I shall send reinforcements to escort you."

"I understand, my lord," Darth Tertius replied and then the holocron went silent.

The center figure set the ruby-colored pyramid on the ground and rose to his feet. The other two followed suit. In perfect unison, they called their lightsabers to their hands, ignited them, and strode across the dim chamber like black phantoms.

* * *

**00:29:48**

Jaq's final request cut Dane to the quick, for she knew then, that he was not completely lost. Her hand trembled over the panel that would open the door. Whatever had damaged it from the other side had left its mark. The door shook and sparked like the broken ones on the Peragus mining facility. _Peragus…Eons ago, that was…_Dane thought. _It was on Peragus that I met Atton…_ Dane closed her eyes at the ache in her heart and let her hand fall away from the door. _He is the father of my child. He is my family, and he is asking for my help, I can feel it. I can't leave him._

But it was too dangerous to stay, and Dane felt a leaden weight settle over her. As if to illustrate that point, she felt a ripple in the Force—a dark side energy was awakening in the Meditation Chamber and Dane could feel it begin to seep under the door like a fog. Jaq, nearer that door, shivered, but did not move. Darth Tertius had apparently decided that its assassin's time was up and Dane cursed. It was time she needed and did not have.

"Can I help, General?" asked a smooth, low voice. "I am, as always, at your command."

Dane raised her head and looked into the smiling, gentle face of Bao-Dur. He stood, limned in a brilliant blue aura, not three paces from where she stood.

"My friend," Dane breathed. "Are you really here?" She glanced around at Jaq, but if he saw or heard either of them, he showed no sign.

Bao-Dur's smile widened. "Yes, General. I am as 'here' as I can ever be. For now."

Dane nodded, and even though she didn't fully understand, she wasn't going to squander whatever precious moments she had with her friend protesting the will of the Force. He was there now, and that was all that mattered. _But why now? _Dane thought.

"I'm here to help you, General," the Iridonian said, answering her thoughts. "You haven't much time but there is a lot left remaining for you to do, I think. I am here to give you that time."

"How can you, my friend?"

"We have stepped out of time so that you might convince your wayward pilot to come back to us."

Dane looked back to Bao-Dur, speechless, for now that her attention was drawn to it, she felt a cessation of movement—as though the universe had ground to a halt. She knew that wasn't true, or even possible, but she marveled at the might of the Force…and Bao-Dur for somehow possessing the power to wield it.

"How…?"

Bao-Dur smiled. "I never knew, General, just what the Force was and what it could do until I became a part of it," he chuckled in that low, gentle voice of his. "It is…amazing. My machines and gadgets that were so important to me…I see how weak and simple they all were." His laughter faded and his eyes grew dark. "Especially the machines I made for Malachor V. If there is one thing I have learned, General, it is that the power of life is a million times stronger than the forces of death. That is what the Code was saying. _There is no death, there is the Force." _Bao-Dur's laughter rumbled low in his chest again. "It all makes sense now."

"I am glad you have found peace," Dane said.

"I have, and now I wish to impart some on to you, General. Now you have the time to show him the way out," Bao-Dur said, inclining his head in Jaq's direction. He sighed and shook his head. "He's gotten himself into a mess of trouble, hasn't he? Somehow, I'm not surprised," he said, looking at his friend with an expression that was part sympathy and part resigned amusement.

"I don't know how to save him, Bao-Dur," Dane said softly. "I feel the good in him still, but how can I reach him? He is so far gone…"

"Listen to the Force, General," Bao-Dur advised. "Nothing happens without a reason. Atton has to save himself. You have only to show him the way. But you knew that. Severing your bond was a start. Now, you must finish it."

"I severed the bond for me, for my child…"

"And for him. Atton always saw himself through your eyes, General. We all did, at one time or another, but none more so than him. I watched how your acceptance of him, especially after he had told you of his past, gave him hope. He began to look at himself differently, through your eyes. And in your eyes, there was no Jaq. Only Atton, and a man he thought you might be able to love."

"And I do," Dane said softly, "so much."

Bao-Dur smiled gently. "He was right, then. But the trick of it was, that it wasn't you, General, who made him into that man."

"You're right," Dane said. She had thought she had severed their bond to save herself and her daughter, but Dane realized it was for Jaq too, so that his redemption, if he had one, was his own. Dane closed her eyes and sighed with relief for she saw a way to show him that he still had a chance against the darkness.

"Thank you, my friend," Dane said to Bao-Dur, "for this time."

The Iridonian smiled. "It won't last long, General, but hopefully long enough to talk some sense into him. He's thickheaded, that one."

Dane smiled at her friend and longed to embrace him. "I love you, Bao-Dur," she said, realizing that she had never, in his life, told him that.

He returned her smile. "I know, General. That's why I'm still with you," he said, and then his

fiery blue-lined image grew weaker and less substantial until he was gone.

Dane watched him fade away, like a hologram that had ceased its transmission. _A hologram from the Force, _Dane marveled, and then turned to Jaq.

_His redemption was begun the moment I severed the bond. Now, I will make him see, and if I cannot, I will leave here knowing absolutely that I did the best and only thing I could do for him… _

Dane turned and quickly walked back to him. She stretched out her hand and called his deactivated lightsaber to it. She did not hesitate in her step, but caught the cylinder and then let it fall to the ground, out of his reach. She knelt over him and searched his jacket pockets.

"What are you doing?" he asked weakly.

"Protecting myself," Dane stated. Her hand found the second syringe of the blue drug he had injected her with before. She tossed it aside and blasted it with the Force as it toppled end over end. She nodded in satisfaction as it shattered over the durasteel floor, Dane took Jaq's face in her black-gloved hands.

"Atton, look at me_. Look_ at me."

He peered at her from under heavy lids, his gray-green eyes like smoky emeralds. "Leave me be, sweets, I'm tired. I—"

"Remember Korriban, Atton. Apathy is death," Dane said sternly, and gave his head a small shake. "I have something to tell you."

"Uh uh, not me," he replied, and brushed her hands from his face. "Stick a fork in me, I'm done," he muttered and chuckled listlessly at his own joke.

"I'm going to tell you one thing and then I am going to leave, with or without you."

"Without me," he said. "I'm real busy right now, in case you haven't noticed…Hey, what happened?" Jaq asked, suddenly sitting up straighter. He glanced around furtively and Dane knew he was sensing the Time-Stop, but there was no time to explain.

"Atton," Dane said, gently. "Listen, love. All right? Please?"

Jaq ceased his nervous glances and nodded almost imperceptibly.

"What is it, babe?" he asked softly. Dane felt a flicker of hope rise in her as she began to speak.

"I want to tell you that I remember the first time I knew I loved you," she told him softly. "It was on Nar Shaddaa, as I was about to meet Visquis in the Jekk'Jekk Tar. I remember how you ran to catch up with me before I went inside, to warn me, to tell me to be careful. Only the day before had you confessed to me of your crimes, and there was a part of me that was afraid of you. I could feel the darkness in you, like a shadow over the aura of your Force. But I trusted you. I trusted you absolutely that you would not stop fighting that darkness. And when you rounded that corner, I knew then that you were winning that fight. Kreia's manipulations to keep you with me had nothing to do with you warning me, nor with the expression in your eyes as you looked down at me. I knew then, that I was in love with you, Atton."

"A lie. All of it," he muttered, without energy, without conviction, and with his eyes anywhere but on her.

"No," Dane said. "These last weeks, Atton? All those moments we stole in between the tragedies? The bond that we made? The _child_ that we made? You cannot ask me to believe that your love was all a ruse, or a reflection of some weakness in yourself that you've now killed and buried. I won't believe it. I know the truth. I still trust you, Atton, that you can start again."

Jaq opened his eyes and looked at her, his eyes glittering. "Start again? From where? The beginning? There is no more beginning for me. The Jedi Council let my family _die_," he said hoarsely. "My sister…"

"I am sorry for what happened to your family, Atton, but that tragedy never robbed you of the ability to chose your own destiny."

Jaq opened his eyes wider and Dane could feel the anger in him roiling to the surface. _Good,_ she thought. _I need him angry and alive…not some dead thing that has given up._

"You don't know the first thing about it, sweets," he said, with mounting anger. "You weren't there. You didn't see my father's dead eyes staring at nothing. You didn't see that bastard having his way with Nima and acting as though he couldn't even _hear _her screams, so don't you pretend for one damn second you wouldn't have reacted the exact same fracking way! That you wouldn't have wanted to kill every living thing until the debt was paid. The lives of my sister and father were cheap to those who murdered them, but not to me, sweets. Oh no, not to me."

Dane had backed up, as Jaq had surged up off the floor. Now they both stood, paces apart. Jaq was breathing heavy and Dane could see the grief, fresh on him, his memories roiling behind his eyes. _If I look hard enough, I can see that terrible, long ago day in them…_

"I'm so sorry, love," Dane breathed, "but I pretend nothing. I only ask that you do not put your destiny in another's hands. Not Lirik's, not the Sith Lord's and not even mine. I have lived with my wound for over ten years and now it is within my means to end it. Your wound, however, is named Jaq and hides behind 'has always been.'" She flinched as he shook with fury, but she did not back down. "And now, just as I can see the end to my pain, I will show you yours. It's a choice. You can begin again and help instead of destroy. It doesn't matter how much you've done, you can start again this moment and it will not have been too late. But that is your choice and yours alone."

"Ah yes, how stupid of me," Jaq said. "To choose the dark side, or not? How simple! Like a light switch—I'll turn it on, or turn it off. Let's see, who shall I be today?" he asked, his tone scathing. "Atton or Jaq? Jedi or Sith? I suppose it will just depend on which mood strikes me," he laughed mirthlessly. "I'll give 'waking up on the wrong side of the bed,' a whole new meaning, won't I?"

His tone was mocking but she could see in his eyes that he was desperate to believe her.

"There is no more time for this," Dane said. "It is not for me to save you. I cut myself off from you because you need to heal yourself _by_ yourself. I cannot help you and if I did, it would be a false healing. It would be your redemption through my will and so a counterfeit one. It's up to you, Atton. Choose."

He shook his head. "I can't…"

"Choose!" Dane cried. She could feel the air around her begin to shiver and she knew the Time-Stop was coming to an end.

"All I have done is destroy," Jaq protested weakly, the fire of his anger dying. "It's all I know."

"That is not true," Dane said, stepping towards him. She took his hand in hers and laid it over her stomach. "The end of both our wounds begins with her," she said, her voice low and fervent. "I need you, Atton. She needs you. Promise to start over, and spend every moment from this point forward fulfilling that promise. If you do the darkness will never be able to find you again. I swear it."

Jaq pressed his hand against Dane's stomach for a moment and then met her eyes. "My…" he cleared his throat. "My daughter?" he asked in a voice no more than a whisper.

"Yes, Atton." Dane searched his eyes, daring herself not to hope.

He nodded and let out a deep, shaky breath. A trace of his usual, crooked grin touched his lips and then he opened his mouth to speak…

**00:29:47…**

…And then the air around them seemed to shudder and bend, and time lurched forward again. As it did, Dane felt a twisting, disorienting sensation. Every muscle in her body clenched and she felt a crazy urge to _run. _She could tell by Jaq's face, he felt the same and then Dane understood. Time was racing to catch up and everything around them was racing right along with it. Her body was responding to that frenetic energy and if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine the very planet spinning underneath them, making them dizzy. It wasn't real, she knew—all time everywhere had not stopped—but it was only the Force's power restoring hers and Jaq's reality to the proper time.

He looked ill, and Dane opened her mouth to explain what had happened, when a horrible feeling of dread came over them, stealing their breath and making them shudder. It was as though an icy hand had wrapped around them and had begun to squeeze. A thunderous _bang!_ shook the durasteel door at the eastern end of the chamber, and it began to buckle and crease as thought it was made of tinfoil. The icy feeling of dread increased as Darth Tertius tore the door out of the wall and stepped into the room.

* * *

Jolee felt a surge of relief as Carth and twenty of his soldiers surrounded him and Lirik. With finely honed military precision, the Admiral ordered another twenty soldiers to do a sweep of the Academy, and the soldiers immediately complied. As their booted steps rang down the durasteel halls, Carth turned to Jolee. 

"What's the story here?" he demanded, eyeing Lirik with a none-too-friendly expression. "Isn't he the brother of…" Carth's words trailed and Jolee could see the Admiral's eyes darken as recognition dawned in them.

"Aye, he is," Jolee said, holding out his hands in a placating manner, "but he and I have an understanding, so to speak."

"Is that a fact?" Carth said, his expression unchanging. "Well, he and I don't." The Admiral made a motion with his hand and several soldiers moved to take Lirik physically in hand. Jolee protested but it was Lirik who startled them by suddenly lunging at one soldier who was standing to the side, his blaster casually resting over his arm but aimed directly at Jolee.

"Watch where you're pointing that," Lirik snarled, and thrust the muzzle of the soldier's gun away.

"Easy, son," Jolee soothed as the guards that had gone to seize Lirik had now stopped and had trained their weapons on the dark Jedi instead. "Everyone, simmer down now." He turned to Carth. "He's all right. I'll be responsible for him."

"I'm not a child, for Force's sake," Lirik muttered.

"Will you shut up? You're not making this any easier," Jolee told him.

"Both of you shut up and tell me where Dane is," Carth ordered.

Jolee quickly explained the situation and by the time he was done, the contingent of men Carth had sent to search the Academy returned.

"Sir," said one, with a salute. "We found eight thermal detonators lodged all around the interior perimeter of this facility. That is, around the areas of the facility we can access. There are several locked doors east of our present location. It is likely there are more explosives there."

Carth nodded curtly. "Were you able to disarm those you found?"

"Negative, sir," said a soldier wearing a munitions badge over the right side of his chest. "Most of them are kinetically activated. Anything more than the slightest movement will set them off."

Admiral Onasi nodded again. "Time?"

"About thirty minutes, sir."

The Admiral pressed his lips together in a thin line, thinking quickly. After a few moments he said, "Lieutenant Andros, take your men and clear out. Have the squads on the ground take off except for mine, and tell Captain Rune to get my ship ready."

"Tell them to take HK-47 with them!" Jolee broke in. "That rusted bucket of parts got himself a dose of Force power and now he's lying like the useless scrap heap he is, in the hangar."

"You heard him," Carth told the lieutenant, who saluted and hurried to carry out the Admiral's orders. "All right, so let's get these doors open and get Dane out."

The Admiral gave a nod of his head and the remainder of his squad, including the munitions expert, followed Jolee to the first of two locked doors that separated them from Dane and Jaq.

* * *

**00:29:46…**

As Darth Tertius swept into the chamber, Dane and Jaq simultaneously stepped apart from one another and called forth their lightsabers. Dane activated hers and gripped it in both hands, her eyes darting between the Sith Lord and the pilot. The dark side power that radiated off Darth Tertius was like a noxious poison that stole her air and left her weak and trembling.

Jaq, she noticed, whipped his double-bladed lightsaber casually over his wrist, but she could feel the tension coming from him as well. _Where are you now, Atton? _Dane wondered…and then Darth Tertius began to speak.

"The Exile," the center figure stated. "You're still alive. We are not pleased." All three heads of all three robed figures turned to Jaq with that eerily perfect unison. Because their attention seemed to be on him, Dane was completely taken off guard by the Force Push they leveled at her. She flew backward, her lightsaber falling away from her hands. The pain of the impact against the wall of the chamber was short-lived, for blackness descended quickly…

Jaq watched as Dane, as powerful a Jedi as she was, was thrown backwards like a discarded child's ragdoll. She struck unyielding durasteel and crumpled to the ground in a heap, unmoving. Jaq turned to the Sith Lord, his mouth dry, his hand clenched around the cylinder of his weapon.

"It seems you have failed," said the center figure.

"_You were given more than enough time. Unless you have had second thoughts…?"_

**"Who do you serve, worm?" **

"Have you begun to doubt your loyalties?" asked the center.

Jaq licked his lips. "I…no, my lord," he said, glancing at Dane's still form out of the corner of his eye. He stood up straighter and faced Darth Tertius. "No, I think I know where my loyalties lie," he said.

Jaq couldn't see the eyes of the Sith Lord, their cowls were pulled low, but he imagined the center figure's eyes narrowing, staring at him, piercing him with their fire-red gaze. But it was the figure to the right that spoke.

"**Then, _bow!_"** it thundered with sudden fury and its hand, independent of the others, shot out to throw a wave of the Force at him.

Jaq heard a snap and then his own ragged scream as pain radiated up his right leg. He fell to the ground, his lightsaber rolling out of reach and he writhed, clutching at his leg.

"That's better," intoned the center. It stepped forward, leaving the other two to stand as still as statues, and knelt beside Jaq. In other circumstances, the pilot may have found such a human gesture from the seemingly robotic Sith Lord a hopeful gesture. As it was, with his leg shattered below the knee and wave after wave of pure dark side power flowing from Darth Tertius as display of its power, Jaq didn't have too much hope left.

"I played a game in my youth," said the center figure, his black robes pooling around his kneeling form like a puddle of ink. "I used to enjoy finding insects—­small Neimoidian beetles were my preferred—and impaling them with a stick or rod." Darth Tertius ignited his crimson lightsaber with these words and let the humming blade hover lazily over Jaq's torso.

_This doesn't sound good. _Jaq's heart hammered in his chest. The pain in his leg was forgotten, as he tried to move or to call his lightsaber to his hand. He could do neither and terror gripped him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dane stir weakly. A part of him rejoiced that she was still alive, and another recoiled that she likely wouldn't be for long.

"After I'd properly pinned the beetle to the ground," Darth Tertius continued, "I would then proceed to pull off its legs one by one. With a certain species of beetle, I could even hear it scream."

_Force, this just gets better and better, _Jaq thought. It didn't take much to know that the Sith Lord wasn't simply regaling Jaq with an anecdote from his youth. _I've made the same kinds of threats in the same way, and I was just as good at it as he is, _he thought, and so wasn't terribly surprised when Darth Tertius, in one swift movement, stood up and plunged the tip of his lightsaber into Jaq's midsection.

"You hesitated in killing the Exile and I suspect you're a traitor as well," Darth Tertius said. "That's twice now, Jaq Rand. We were merciful and lenient once, but not again."

Jaq couldn't move nor breathe. There was a sun in his stomach, a searing pain that was beyond words and that was charring his flesh in an ever-growing radius around the blade of the lightsaber. It was all he could do to keep from gripping that glowing red blade to try to move it, to push it away. But while the pain was quickly consuming his awareness, he still had enough sense to keep from losing his hands too. Then the two other robed figures stepped forward and ignited their own blades and the part of Jaq that was still cognizant, realized he was about to lose much more than his hands anyway. His last rational thought as the figure on the right raised his lightsaber, was a message to Dane. It was an image from the nightmare he'd had on Manaan, from that dream's last moments. Only in this dream, Atton Rand laid aside the sword that was to have ended Dane's life and held out his hand to her instead.

**00:19:31…**

Dane saw the vision and knew at once that it had come from Atton through the Force. Strength and hope fueled her and she staggered to her feet, her head throbbing where it had struck the wall. She immediately made to call the Force to her, to barricade herself behind it for protection, when she saw a sight that stopped her heart.

Atton was pinned under one crimson lightsaber and another of the three figures that made up the Sith Lord was readying to dismember him with another. Without sparing a second to think, Dane hurled every last particle of energy that she had called to her to make her shield, and sent it at Darth Tertius instead.

The Force Push was the strongest she had ever conjured and it succeeded in keeping the Sith Lord from tearing Atton apart. All three hooded figures flew backwards, their velvety robes fluttering, to crash heavily against the rear of the chamber. Their lightsabers toppled end over end after them to land on the durasteel floor where they hissed like angry red vipers.

Dane called her own emerald blade to her hand and rushed to Atton's side. He looked at her with wide, staring eyes, and she could see his consciousness floating in and out. They fixed on her face and he read her expression of horror as she looked at the charred and blackened hole in the middle of him.

"Was always…ugly," he croaked, his breath coming in fits and starts. "Now…outside matches…"

Dane shook her head violently, panic rendering her immobile and mute. She could see Darth Tertius rise to its feet, take its lightsabers in hand, and approach. She erected a Force Barrier just in time to prevent the blue lightning of the Sith Lord's Force Shock from reaching her or Atton. _I can't fight it and save him too! _

But Dane's thoughts were irrational and of little use and she knew it. With a primal scream of rage and frustration, she left Atton's side and attacked Darth Tertius, all the while praying to any god that would listen to spare his life long enough for her to heal him.

Dueling Darth Tertius, Dane was reminded—briefly—of her last encounter with Darth Traya on Malachor V. The three disembodied lightsabers she had faced then could very well have been in the hands of these three shadowy figures, and Dane struggled against them now, just as she had then.

The dark side energy flowed freely from the Darth Tertius, chilling Dane and stealing her breath for fear. But she had no time for the fear—she had no time to think, even—for the Sith Lords, once moving in perfect unison, now moved independent of one another, yet with a sameness of skill and strategy. They were separate, but fought in perfect harmony so that each attack was a part of a pattern Dane found almost impossible to defend against. Every second, she was blocking a crimson lightsaber. They cut at her from all angles and drove her back, away from Atton. The flurry attack she had perfected became one of defense, her green blade moving almost entirely by instinct to keep Darth Tertius from slicing her to ribbons.

_I must get them apart, _she thought, but she could see no way how. Unlike the lightsabers on Malachor V, Darth Tertius had a complete arsenal of dark side Force powers at its disposal as well. Dane felt a phantom hand close around her throat and begin to squeeze, even as she fought with every last bit of her skill against their three blades.

A thunderous banging sound came from the western door, but Dane couldn't spare it a moment's attention. She threw off the Choke and wished desperately she could summon the Force to levy a Scream at her three opponents, but to do so would be to pause in her parrying defense, and that would leave her dead.

Her arms tired and sweat dripped down her face and yet Darth Tertius continued to move with the same easy fluidity as when they had first begun. If he tired at all—or could—he did not show it. Tears mingled with her sweat for Dane could just see Atton lying still and unmoving, likely dead. Another bang sounded, followed by a whirring, buzzing noise, but the sounds were but the background song to her defeat.

Darth Tertius must have sensed that it was winning and could spare one of its own, for one of the three forms detached itself from the other two and moved toward the Atton.

"_No!"_ Dane screamed, and renewed her attack. She was nearing the point of exhaustion, her hope draining with every passing moment that brought that lone Sith Lord closer to Atton. She was therefore almost shocked to see she had severed the arm of the Sith Lord on the left—she had begun to believe she could do little more than defend against Darth Tertius' attacks.

It made no sound of pain, but the limb fell to the ground in a spray of sparks and frayed wires, and Dane could see the place where it had been attached was the same. _It's a droid, _she thought, incredulously. Her next strike found the center figure and it let loose a very human-sounding scream as her blade singed its thigh. The smell of burnt flesh tinged the air.

With the center figure pausing—for the smallest of seconds—for the pain in his thigh, Dane finally found her chance to stop the other that had gone after Atton. _It must be too late, _she thought with a crushing despair as she raced toward him…and so it took her a moment or two to realize that Jolee Bindo was standing over Atton's body, his blue lightsaber clashing with the red of the Sith Lord. Beside him was Carth Onasi, firing his blaster again and again at that same Sith Lord, while simultaneously barking orders to his men to attack the other two.

Jolee was a fine swordsman, but the Sith Lord was better. The old Jedi needed her help, but Dane could feel the other two Sith Lords coming behind her and she cursed, for she would only bring them right to Jolee and Carth.

Thinking quickly Dane shot out her hand and sent a Destroy Droid shock wave at the Sith Lord Jolee battled. A series of small explosions began, each one sparking another, until the entire torso blew apart, raining robotic debris and charred bits of robe over them…as well as a smattering of blood. The husk of the body toppled over, twitching and convulsing through its final throes. Jolee stood, dumbfounded, but Dane couldn't spare him—or the fallen Sith Lord—another minute.

Republic soldiers streamed past her and commenced firing at Darth Tertius who was striding up behind her. The center, the living human, sneered a laugh and felled three soldiers with a Force Choke so strong, Dane had felt—and heard—their necks snap instantly.

"No!" she cried, and executed a flip to land in front to the half dozen or so Republic soldiers that face Darth Tertius. "Fall back!" she shouted at them, and attempted to throw another Destroy Droid on the Sith Lord that was missing an arm.

The human, center figure, felt her intentions and blocked her Force with a Scream unlike any she had ever experienced. Any Republic soldiers who had not obeyed her command, fell writhing to the ground, clutching their heads, or ran screaming away. Dane weathered it better, but not my much. She felt as though eardrums would burst and her mind raced with a thousand different thoughts, each more horrifying than the last.

She sucked in the Force like a drowning woman gasps for air. She felt it fill her mind, calm her…just in time to see Darth Tertius' lightsabers come at her again. She blocked them both and quickly channeled the Force she had called, morphing it into Speed.

With one comrade destroyed, the remaining Sith Lords struggled against her flurry assault. The droid that was missing an arm struck at her roughly, in unbalanced attacks. Dane let a flicker of hope flare in her, but the human Darth Tertius was quick. He sensed his own weakness too, having plucked it from her mind. He backed off his robotic clone and fought her alone. Dane thought him mad to even the odds, until she felt the Terror trying to grip her, and then she knew what had happened. While she fought lightsaber to lightsaber with one Darth Tertius, the other levied its considerable Force powers at her from afar.

_How can a droid channel the Force? _she wondered, briefly. The vision of the exploding Sith Lord raining blood came to her but there was no time to ponder it. No matter how he did it, the Terror wrapped around her mind and it took every bit of will she had not drop her lightsaber and run screaming as the Republic soldiers had…

_Republic soldiers…_Dane mused, the Terror infecting her thoughts. _There are ghosts of them everywhere…_

But they were not ghosts. They were Carth's men and they surrounded the Sith Lords, firing again and again at the two robed figures.

The human Darth Tertius was forced to relent in his attack on Dane and parried the blaster bolts instead. Several were deflected into the bodies of the soldiers around her and that was enough for Dane to throw off the Terror that gripped her. In a rage, she flew at Darth Tertius, a second wind giving her strength. Again and again, she hacked and slashed at him, until he was backed up to his twin.

Dane was certain the Sith Lord would fall, but instead, she saw a thin smile, on the lips of the human Tertius.

"Time?" he asked of his clone.

**00:08:11…**

The droid made its reply and the smile—the only visible part of the Sith Lord Dane could see—widened and she felt him draw the Force to him, even as he fought.

The currents and eddies of dark side energies swirled past her like rancid vapors and then the next thing she knew, Dane was flying backwards again.

She hit the ground near Jolee and Carth, the Republic soldiers landing heavily around her. She struggled to sit up and saw Darth Tertius limping toward the Meditation Chamber, its twin following behind.

To her left, Atton lay on the ground with Jolee hovering over him nervously. Dane felt with the Force that Atton was somehow still alive, though his energy was growing dimmer with every passing second. Jolee was sending healing energy to him and Dane could see Atton's Force flare and then dim again, over and over, like gusts of wind fanning a dying fire. _Hold on, love, _Dane thought and scrambled to her feet.

She raced after Darth Tertius who was slipping into the Meditation Chamber. Carth Onasi and half a dozen of his troops were following after. Dane laid a Stasis over them, for she knew that if they cornered the Sith Lord in the other chamber, it would waste no time in ending all their lives.

Dane wended her way between the immobile soldiers and ran into the Meditation Chamber. Her Force Barriers were erected and her lightsaber ready…but the chamber was empty. Dane could neither see nor sense Darth Tertius. Around her, the holocrons hissed and spat and whispered in an ancient, dying language.

_No! _The general in her cursed the lost battle and despaired over how she was supposed to track her enemy. It was clear from the Force that it was no longer in the Academy and Dane sensed only a trace of the powerful dark side energies that had cloaked the Sith Lord. The signature was weak, and growing weaker as Darth Tertius, somehow, escaped Telos.

Hoping that Carth had fighters in the air and on the ground to slow him down, even if it meant the loss of Republic life, Dane turned to rush back out of the chamber to tend to Atton. As she did, her eyes fell on the red, glassy pyramid of a lone holocron sitting on the floor in front of the three throne-like chairs Darth Tertius had clearly occupied. Without hesitation, Dane changed her course, swept up the holocron and continued her mad dash.

**00:04:57…**

Out in the chamber, Dane released Carth and his soldiers from the Stasis. Chaos reigned for a moment as they reoriented themselves but for the Admiral, who had clearly spent some time in a Jedi Stasis before. "It's gone," Dane answered his stern glare, stopping long enough to hand him the holocron. "But I found this. I think it might help."

Carth handled the holocron as if she had handed him a dead fish, but Dane was already rushing again to Atton's side.

"I've been doing my best," Jolee told her in a low voice, his face drawn with exhaustion, both from battle and from the Force healing. "I can't do more and he's fading fast. You know what you have to do, missy," he said. "Quick now. I don't think we got much time left here."

Dane nodded. She had already laid her hands on Atton's arm and was calling the Force to her. She closed her eyes and blocked out the frenetic images of battle that still danced behind her eyes. _This is what I learned the healing for. For this moment. It all makes sense…_she thought, and then even her thoughts fled as she channeled the Force into Atton.

She sent as much as she could—as much as she dared—and then gently inhaled it back in. The pain was swift and terrible, but the strength of Dane's Force made it bearable. In the back of her mind, she knew she ought to be in horrible agony, but for some reason she was not. As she continued the healing procedure—breathing the Force in her body and out again, to his—she understood what it was that kept the pain at bay… and the words of her vision came to her.

_"You always protected him,"_ she'd told the shade of her unborn daughter, "_even from the very beginning."_

Dane smiled and continued the healing process until a rough hand shook her shoulder.

"Sorry, Dane, but we have to leave…._now,_" Carth Onasi said.

**00:02:36…**

Dane opened her eyes to see a ring of weary Republic soldiers standing around her and Atton. She looked at her pilot, at the gaping wound in his stomach. Where there had been a charred hole, was now the unsightly vision of flesh trying to mend, but he was far from safe. His skin was a ghastly shade of gray and his breath was shallow and rasping. "He isn't well enough," Dane protested but Jolee laid a hand on her arm.

"There are bombs about, missy," he said gently. "Time to go."

The Republic troops were hurrying out under Carth's orders. The red-haired lieutenant, Targan, Dane remembered his name was, was quietly urging the Admiral to do the same.

"Jolee…?" Dane said softly.

"A trance!" the old man replied suddenly. "We'll put him in a Jedi trance. That should hold him until we can get him somewhere safe."

"No time," Carth began but Jolee shushed him.

**00:01:11…**

"This won't take but a second," he said, and he laid his gnarled hand on Atton's ashen forehead. Within moments, the pilot's breathing seemed to cease, and Dane felt a sliver of panic slide into her heart. But then she saw his chest rise and fall, gently. Some color returned to his face and his limbs stilled.

"There," Jolee said proudly. "All right, _now _we can go."

Dane smiled thinly in gratitude and got to her feet.

Carth made a swift motion with his hand and two of his troops picked Atton up and the group hurried out of the chamber.

"Watch his leg," Dane told them wearily, the events of the last few hours beginning to take their toll. _But the Sith Lord is still out there. I can't waste a second more…_

**00:00:47…**

"Hey," Jolee said suddenly, glancing around as they ran toward the hangar, "where in the blazes is Lirik?"

Dane frowned, puzzled at the question, but neither she, nor anyone else had an answer.

"Come on, move it! Let's go!" Carth barked, hurrying his men toward the exit. He grabbed Jolee by the collar of his robes and hauled him toward the exit, for the old man had slowed down and was searching frantically about the chamber.

Dane followed after the men who held Atton. She could just see the white of the snow as it gleamed in the moonlight, perhaps ten paces ahead. She looked at Atton being carried between the soldiers ahead of her. _We're almost there, love, and then we'll make you well. We're almost there…_

**00:00:00…**

* * *

**A/N: I believe I have replied to all of my reviewers whom I love and adore so much, but I'll go back to make sure. To those of you reviewing non-registered-style, I thank you too for taking the time to review. And still more thanks to every single one of you who, reviewing or not, are reading. You all make this worth-while. **

**3 or 4chaps more and an epilogue and this sucker will be put to bed...like me right now. ;) **

**Thanks again to everyone!**

**Trillian**


	43. The Beginning of the End

_A/N: See below._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own sense of accomplishment._

_Thanks to: My ingenious beta-reader, Bald as Malak, upon whom I cannot heap enough praise and gratitude for his support and energy. He went solo this time, as I jumped the gun on Miss Becky and gave her a thirty-one page break.  As always, any mistakes are my own. _

_Enjoy._

* * *

**Chapter 43**

**Beginning of the End**

**Telos…**

Dane was still struggling to haul herself up the ladder and out of the Academy when it blew itself apart.

Her foot slipped on the last rung of the ladder and she reached back to grab the railing, to steady herself. She curled her fingers around the durasteel rail and then it seemed to her that a giant roared and breathed fire, and then plucked her from her spot and deposited her some twenty-five meters away.

She landed heavily on her back, deafened by the roar and blinded as the night sky was lit up bright as day. Debris came raining silently down from the sky but she could not see to dodge it, and if anyone screamed, Dane could not hear them.

Her vision slowly cleared and she turned to her left to see Atton lying face down in the snow, his lower leg bent at a crazy, impossible angle from the rest of him. She winced and tried to send out a healing wave of Force energy, but the shock of the explosion had fractured her concentration. Dane could almost see the white-gold bands of energy vibrate and break apart, none of them reaching Atton.

She tried again, tried to stretch her hand out before her, but she hadn't the strength. Her arm felt so heavy, she could hardly lift it. _Why…? _She glanced down and saw that she was clutching a piece of the ladder railing in her charred and reddened fist. She moaned and tried to drop the metal rod but found she could not—it was soldered onto her palm and her fingers were burnt and curled around it. She felt no pain and the part of her that was not numbed by shock knew that was a bad thing.

Dane let her misshapen hand fall back into the snow and her eyes wandered beyond. In the distance, figures moved in the flickering light of burning wreckage that had been spewed from the ground. They looked like too-tall Ewoks dancing around a holy bonfire. _It is a dance for the dead. Atton. Me. All of us. _Dane whimpered and looked away.

She turned her gaze to sky, seeking solace in the neutral, star-studded black. But two ships, transports, traveling in opposite directions, traversed that canopy and Dane felt despair lay heavily over her, pushing her down deeper into the unconsciousness that was dragging at her. Republic fighters were chasing one of the transports but she paid it no mind. It was the other that pulled a low moan from her. The other held Darth Tertius; she could feel the Sith Lord's presence growing dimmer and dimmer as the ship raced farther away. Finally, it winked out of sight, doubtless having jumped into hyperspace before Carth's men could touch it.

Dane moaned again and finally closed her eyes, glad to see nothing at all.

>>>>>

She awoke to see Atton bent over her. He flashed her his crooked grin.

"Hiya, sweets," he said, his voice carrying the distance of light-years in it. "How's my girl?"

Dane started to smile and then clutched at her abdomen in a panic. The pulse of life within her was still there and she sighed with relief.

"She's fine, Atton. How are you?" she asked, wondering how he could be standing right beside her and so far away at the same time.

Atton's gray-green eyes clouded and a small, longing smile touched his lips.

"I think I'm dead."

>>>>>

Dane awoke with the sun was streaming in through a viewport to her right, making the white of the blankets that covered her all the brighter. She blinked and looked about. The room was sparse and mostly empty. Hers was the only bed and at the foot of it was a medfile clipped to the post. Straight ahead was the door to the refresher, and beside that, a table, upon which sat a tray of instruments, kolto patches and gauze. A quick glance at her right hand showed her the purpose of the tray. To her left was the door, at which stood a rusted, yet clearly newly cleaned Hunter-Killer unit.

"Salutation: Greetings, Master. I am pleased to see you awake and somewhat functional. Humble Query: Have you need of anything this morning? Caffa? Tea? The still-warm head of the enemy of your choosing presented tidily on a platter?"

Dane rubbed her eyes, wincing at the pain the movement caused in her right hand. She channeled the Force into it immediately.

"Where am I?" she asked, slowly unwrapping the gauze from her hand. That was an effort, as her body felt as heavy as lead and dizziness seemed to be lurking right around the corner, ready to jump at her.

"Unamended Reply: You are at a medical center in the TSF Station that is currently hovering over the planet, Telos."

"How long have I been sleeping?" Dane asked. She tossed the loose roll of gauze aside and flexed her hand. The skin was pink and tender along her palm where the bar had burned itself into her hand, but she had mended it completely with the Force.

"Reply: Thirty-seven hours, eleven minutes, and forty-three seconds…as you organics measure time."

Dane closed her eyes and leaned back against her pillow. _Ah, gods. Darth Tertius must be light-years away. _The sound of a refresher being activated and the emergence of Jolee from it startled Dane from her thoughts.

"Oh, good, you're awake," the old Jedi said without much energy. "Hope you don't mind I made use of your facilities. Figured I may as well, since they're here and…" His voice trailed away and he smiled wanly. "Anyway, glad to see your eyes open for a change."

"I'm glad to see you here, Jolee," Dane said. "The others?"

"All accounted for but for Lirik," the old man replied, his voice tight, as though he were forcing it into normal tones. "Don't know where that ignoramus got off to…or if he got out at all."

Dane nodded but said nothing to that. _Jolee may have found something redeemable in Lirik, but I'm not ready to forgive just yet. Not after what happened to Atton._ _Atton! _The vision of him came crashing back to her, as did his last words. "Where is he?" she demanded, and she didn't have to explain whom she meant.

Jolee said quietly, "He's on another floor, miss. The floor where the serious cases are taken, I reckon. I have been splitting my time between him and you, waiting for you to wake up. I'm don't mean to alarm you, but there was a time there in the beginning when it didn't look so good, but he's in that Trance still, and holding his course, so to speak."

Dane nodded. _Thank the Force, he's alive, but he thinks he's gone. It's the trance. _Dane tried, unthinking, to contact Atton through their bond, to assure him he wasn't dead and to hold on. But there was no bond and tears welled in her eyes. She tried to muster the energy to throw off her blankets when the door to her room beeped, heralding a visitor.

"Query: Shall I dispose of this intruder, Master?" HK inquired hopefully.

"It's Admiral Onasi," Dane said, after a brief peak through the door with the Force. "Let him in, HK," she ordered, and willed her tears away.

The droid seemed to sigh. "Resigned Acquiescence: Of course, Master. Rhetorical Query: Why do I even bother offering anymore?"

HK-47 activated the door and Carth stepped in. His dark expression lightened when he saw Dane.

"Hey, you," he said, and lightly chucked her under the chin. "Good to see you up. And I see you got rid of your Academy souvenir," he added with a nod at her hand.

Dane grimaced. "Gladly."

"Well, I hate to have to continue with the unpleasantries, but we got lots to talk about and not a lot of time."

Dane nodded. "I know. Darth Tertius got away."

"He did," Carth agreed. "And so did another transport. My men blasted one pretty good—maybe Tertius'—but they both made the jump anyway. Any idea who was in the second one?"

_Lirik Thrakill,_ Dane thought, wondering how she knew. But as soon as the notion came to her, she knew it was correct. She looked to Jolee. The old Jedi's face was drawn with worry. _It's the least I can do for him, if it eases his mind. _

"Lirik was in the second transport that got away," she told him. "He escaped the Academy, I swear it."

Jolee failed to hide the jubilant expression that touched his features for a second before he began muttering and coughing and cursing. "What do I care about some ill-tempered, smart-alecky Sith-boy?" he groused. "Sure, he escaped trouble here but he'll find more. Mark my words. Fool should have stayed with me. Come to Coruscant where Visas could have knocked some sense into his fool head. And I wouldn't mind taking a crack or two, either, for good measure."

Jolee paused to see both Dane and Carth looking at him with darkened expressions. "Now, I know worrying is the favorite pastime of both of yours, but try something new and different for a change. He's up to something. Said so himself, but I didn't pay attention."

"Yeah, he's up to something all right," Carth muttered. "No good, and plenty of it."

"Don't be so sure, Onasi," Jolee returned. "I got the feeling he's going to surprise us yet."

"I'll believe that when I see it," Carth said, shaking his head.

Dane silently agreed with the Admiral but didn't see the point in antagonizing Jolee over it. "And the transport that held Darth Tertius?" she asked Carth. "Did any of your fighters get a signature on it at all?"

Carth shook his head. "No, both damn ships jumped before my men could get into position to get a lock on either one of them. Now Fleet wants to know why I left Coruscant with a squadron so suddenly and I don't even have a dead Sith Lord to show them. Only one very large whole in the ground where that Academy used to be." He smiled ruefully. "It's a good thing I'm an Admiral; there's not too many higher-ranking officers above me to ask the questions, but I'll still have a load of reports to file."

"I'm sorry, Carth," Dane said. "I didn't mean to cause you any trouble."

"Ah, don't sweat it," Carth said. "I don't care about all that. I split my time between Coruscant and the Restoration Project. Six months here and the brass will forget all about my little escapade. But it's got to be six _quiet _months. If Telos is in danger because of that Sith Lord on the loose, then we got problems. That's why I'm glad you're awake. I'm not going to pretend I understand all these Jedi matters so I don't mind telling you I almost contacted the Temple to see if that Visas knew anything." Carth ran a hand through his hair. "I just need and idea of what's next."

"I don't know," Dane said with a sigh. "I haven't the first idea where to begin looking for Darth Tertius. I don't know if he plans to attack Telos, but my guess would be no. He was there only for the use of the Academy, I think."

"Yes, but he was out to kill you," Jolee put in. "Maybe he'll come back to see if his thermal detonators did their job."

Dane shook her head, remembering watching the two transports wink out of sight. "He doesn't care," she said. "He left Telos because he was after something bigger and more important than me. I don't know how I know this, but it's true," she said. She met Jolee and Carth's dubious glances. "If he wanted me dead, he would have tried harder," Dane explained. "No, there was something else."

"Interjection," HK droned from his post at the door. "Far be it for me to presume to understand the _multi-faceted_ and bewildering _complexity_ of the meatbag thought-processes, but my own relatively advanced neural processors have surmised that if your Sith-model meatbag is pursuing one who is more powerful and more important than yourself, then that organic could only be my own former master."

Dane blanched. "Revan?"

Jolee nodded, and Dane saw Carth's jaw muscles clench at the name. "It seems likely," he said, and the despair Dane was feeling grew ten times heavier.

"I'm sorry, Carth," she said. "I'm a small prize to the Sith compared to Revan. I had hoped to join her with news of Darth Tertius' death. Now I'm afraid he's gone after her, and I've added another battle to her war." She looked at him. "Have you any idea where she is? Any at all?"

Carth shook his head and sank into the chair besides Dane's bed. "Nope," he said blandly. "You've read the datapad. She doesn't give one damn clue, so…?" He shrugged and leaned back in his chair, blowing out a sigh—seemingly relaxed and loose. But Dane felt tension coiling in the Admiral tighter with every passing moment.

"So we're no better off than we were."

HK-47 shifted impatiently. "Report: My highly sophisticated sensors have detected the presence of a communication device located on the torso region of a carbon-based life form that is currently occupying this room. Humble Suggestion: Perhaps one could access said communication device; there is a slim chance that its contents could prove…helpful. Then again, I am a mere robotic amalgam of non-organic particles, so it is understandable if you, more intelligent life forms of the meatbag persuasion prefer to ignore my—"

"HK," Jolee said. "Shut up."

The droid shifted again and settled into a seemingly morose silence. "I think he's talking about the holocron," Carth said. He fished in the inner pocket of his battered orange flight jacket and handed the glassy red pyramid to Dane.

"I had forgotten about this," Dane said. She turned it over in her hands and found the hidden catch on the under side of it. She pressed it and the small hospital room was filled with hissing, whispering sounds, as though the small object held a nest of vipers. Carth grimaced and Jolee appeared as though he had tasted something sour. Dane ignored the sounds and concentrated on reading the text that appeared inside the holocron, seeming to float in the center of the pyramid. It was the last message passed through the device and Dane's eyes widened at its contents. Her eyes darted to Carth before she could catch herself.

"It says where she is, doesn't it?" Carth asked.

Dane nodded.

The Admiral rose quickly to his feet and strode to the door. "I'll see that the _Hawk _is ready for you and Deke will take you where you need to go," he said, activating the door. He paused and looked around at Dane. "Just don't ever tell me," he said, his voice gruff. "Never. Okay?"

"Okay," Dane said, and watched as Carth returned a curt nod and then was gone.

There was a silence and then HK-47 said, "Bewildered Observation: I had thought the official-looking meatbag was enamored with my former master? My neural databanks are clogged with images of the two of them ogling one another during our quest for the Star Forge. Puzzled Query: Why would Admiral Meatbag not wish to join Master?"

"Because, you ignorant bucket of parts," Jolee said, "she left him and…uh, he doesn't want…that is…" Jolee ran a hand over his bald pate. "Bah, just never you mind! What would you know about it, anyway?"

HK-47 shifted with indignation but Dane cut in before it could retort.

"He doesn't want to know because after all this time, after such a long absence, to suddenly and so easily discover Revan's whereabouts is too much. I suspect the only thing he's had to hold on is that someday she is going to come back and he is to keep the galaxy safe until she does. It's not part of the deal that he go after her."

Jolee snorted. "Not to mention, he has his pride." His dour expression lightened and he clapped his hands together. "But you can tell me what it said. So! Where are we going?"

Dane met Jolee's eyes and she shook her head. "Remember what we spoke of on Manaan? This was my original task all along. No one I love can come with me."

Jolee grew flustered at that last statement and despite his grumbling, Dane could feel he was pleased. "Flattery will get you nowhere, miss," he said with a wink, then his expression grewserious. "It's that time, isn't it?"

"Yes," Dane said. "It's time to finish this."

* * *

**Brisia…**

Lirik Thrakill struggled to control the transport as it made its descent onto Brisia. The pommel of the controls jumped in his hands and his shoulder screamed with each jerk. He had barely evaded the Republic fighters that had been circling the Academy on Telos like hawks, but one or two of them had managed to take a piece out of his puny transport. _This should make landing fun,_ he thought, as the ship came down.

He waited for a hail from the hidden defense tower to sound and question his purpose, but none came. Lirik didn't know if that was a bad or good thing, but he hadn't the time to ponder it. His transport was coming in too fast and Brisia was not a moon of smooth plains and flat surfaces. Lirik saw a patchwork of jagged rock, dipping canyons, steep crevasses, and black dots marking bubbling tar pits everywhere below him.

"Where the frack does anyone land?" he wondered aloud, irritation and more than a little panic coloring his voice. He saw a plain, unmarred stretch of ground out his starboard side and hoped that it was level enough to land on and not a trick of the altitude making it seem so.

Luck was on his side—or at least partially, he thought. The ground _was_ flat but his landing was anything but smooth. He brought the transport down with all the grace of a sack of rocks being dropped from a great height. The transport crashed down and then flipped over once, skidded on its back for twenty meters, and came to a stop after much scraping and flying of sparks.

Lirik, hanging from the safety harness, peered at his surroundings. The viewports revealed he had come within three meters of smashing into an outcropping of jagged rock. He heaved a breath and closed his eyes—the disorientation of being upside down, the less-than-textbook landing, and his injuries were all working in conjunction to make him feel thoroughly ill. _Or perhaps it's just pre-assassination jitters,_ he thought and a dry, mirthless chuckle escaped him. His hands shook as he released the catch on the harness and carefully lowered himself down to the ceiling of the transport.

The landscape of the ship was more difficult to maneuver through upside down, but Lirik slowly made his way to the door of the transport, which he really hoped wasn't jammed shut from the crash. He coughed twice, painfully, and wiped the blood off his chin with the sleeve of his robe before trying to activate the door.

It opened with a great production of metal scraping on metal and whining hinges, and a blast of hot, arid, Brisia air hit Lirik and immediately coated his dark Jedi robes with a fine layer of dust. He coughed again, and covered his mouth with his sleeve as he stepped out of the ruined transport.

He squinted into the excruciatingly bright environment, looking for the blasters or lightsabers or some sort of weapon that he was sure would be trained on him by now, but none appeared. There was no one to meet him, or question him, or haul him immediately into custody. _What if it's empty? What if they've abandoned the base? _He glanced at the behind him at the defunct transport. _If I had known I'd be trapped here, I would have tried harder on the landing. _

Lirik picked his way across the rocky terrain towards the direction he hoped the base was. He knew it was there, somewhere, hiding among the towers of rock and stone, a cloaking shield perpetually surrounding it to camouflage it and make it blend in with the scenery. Lirik stretched out his senses, feeling for that cloaking shield. He felt the pulse of it, distantly, to the east, and changed his course to follow it.

The pulse grew stronger until he looked up, shielding his eyes from the brilliant glare of the sun, and saw the wavering, mirage-like section of stone that marked the entrance to the base.

Relief and stark fear combined in him to create an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach. It was like coming home after a long absence only to discover that the home had been turned into a blackened lair and monsters now lived among its ruin. _No, it was always like that, _Lirik thought, leaning heavily against a boulder to rest. _I was just one of those monsters. _

Lirik closed his eyes and let his hand stray to the lightsaber that was clipped to his belt. The cool metal of the cylinder comforted him, but the feeling was fleeting. He opened his eyes and looked down at the bleeding holes that crossed his body. Jolee hadn't the strength to heal him on Telos and Lirik's own activities—escaping exploding academies and crash-landing transports—had only made things worse. He let his hand fall away from the lightsaber. _Who am I kidding? He's too powerful. He's going to run me through with my own weapon and laugh at my weakness as he does it. Why did I come here? I should have gone to Baroonda. I could be lying on a beach, drinking a Membrosia, bleeding into white sands instead oflimping headlong tomy own demise on this gods-forsaken rock. _

Lirik chuckled dryly and his laugh became a cough. He wiped more blood from his chin and sighed, glancing around. _This place is a graveyard. Maybe I'll get lucky and find it's been abandoned. Then I can take a bath in the tar pits and die in peace and quiet. _

"Halt! Hands up!"

Lirik was too exhausted to be startled by the sudden appearance of a Sith soldier standing before him and leveling his carbine at him. He slowly raised his hands as the soldier approached. _So much for peace and quiet. But maybe this means the place isn't deserted and the Count's still here. Lucky me. _

The Sith trooper crept forward slowly, deliberately, his weapon unwavering…until he was within five meters of Lirik. Then the tense stance was dropped, as was the blaster's leveled aim.

"Lirik Thrakill? Is that you? Or maybe Lanik…?"

Lirik stiffened at his brother's name and withdrew a battered pack of cigarras from his inner pocket. He lit one with shaking hands and took a long, slow drag. "Lirik," he replied. "And you are…?"

"Damn, isn't that something!" the Sith said, shouldering his blaster and striding towards Lirik. He took off his helmet to reveal a young man of about twenty-five, with a shaved head and brown goatee. "It's me, Urias Konn. We were in Initiation together…you, me and Lanik."

Lirik said nothing but puffed on his cigarra as Urias peered around, searching for Lirik's missing twin.  
"Say, where is Lanik?" Urias asked, sitting himself next to Lirik on the boulder. "Mind if I bum one of those? It's hell being on dayshift out here."

"Dead," Lirik said.

Urias blinked. "Say again?"

"Lanik," Lirik said slowly, and took another drag off his cigarra. "He's dead." He wondered if he'd ever be able to say that without a cold ache gripping his chest.

"Damn, man." Urias shook his head. "That's too bad. He was a good guy. Smart as hell. You too, man. You both took off up the ranks. Wish I had. Maybe then I wouldn't have pulled midday guard duty."

Lirik narrowed his eyes and regarded Urias through the smoke. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the man that if, after more than ten years, he was still on guard duty, he was never going to "take off up the ranks." Instead, he heard himself say: "If you had been promoted, you'd be the one sitting here, shot full of holes, your brother dead, and your mission in ruins." Lirik smiled humorlessly as Urias noticed for the first time, the bloody splotches that dotted his robes and the gash across his cheek. The Sith whistled low through his teeth.

"Damn, that doesn't look good," he said, and then his light eyes strayed again to Lirik's smoke. "Say, how 'bout that cigarra?"

"Where is everyone?" Lirik asked. His arms remained crossed over his chest as he lazily puffed away. "This place is dead."

"Oh, man, you haven't heard?" Urias exclaimed. "The Count found Revan! He's sent the rest of us to Rattatak to finish her off. Darth Tertius is going too, but I suppose you knew that."

"Rattatak, eh?" Lirik mused, keeping his face neutral—which was easy enough. _How am I supposed to feel about that? Triumphant? Horrified? Or something in between? _Lirik shook his head and decided he felt nothing, and that was fine with him.

"Yeah. This is it," Urias was saying. "She'll be dead soon, and there'll be no one left to stop us!"

Lirik snorted at Urias' clearly borrowed phrasing. _Typical Sith propaganda—appropriately ambitious and ridiculously over-dramatic. _Lirik sighed. _The more things change, the more they stay the same. _

"Where is the Count?" he asked.

Urias jerked a thumb toward the mirage-looking structure of stone and rock above them. "He's in there."

Lirik nodded, wondering if he was pleased by the news or if he was going to become violently ill because of it. "Not much in the way of protection left now, eh?"

Urias shook his head vigorously but lowered his voice as he said, "I heard talk that he wanted more to guard him, but we just couldn't spare it. After Lt. Gracus took off with more than a hundred and fifty men…" Urias let his words ominously trail off and shrugged as though the matter were out of his hands. "How 'bout that smoke?" he asked again, now starting to sound pitiful. Lirik ignored the request.

"Is the Count alone?"

"He's got a few at his chambers," Urias replied, "but it's not a lot. Some say that's a bad idea, others say it won't matter once Revan's dead anyway."

Lirik studied Urias Konn. He watched as the younger man's eyes lit with a murderous fervor at the notion of Revan's demise. His smile was a sickly one, perverted with hate despite the man's seemingly jovial demeanor. Lirik fought the urge to Choke the man where he sat, and forced his features to remain neutral. _I'm supposed to try first though, aren't I, old man? _Lirik mused and he shifted so that he was facing the Sith.

"Say, Urias," Lirik said idly, "have you ever thought about quitting?"

Urias blinked. "Quitting? What do you mean? The Sith?"

_No, the Adolescent Girl Explorers of Hathrox III. _"Yes," Lirik said slowly. "The Sith."

Urias frowned and ran a hand over his shaved head. "What for?"

Lirik shrugged and instantly regretted the pain that lanced down his back from his injured shoulder. The pain irritated him, as did Urias' dimness. "I don't know, just to quit," he said. "To quit fighting and killing and plotting and murdering…you know, those sorts of things."

Urias hung his head with longing. "Oh, man, I wish I got to do that. Plotting and murders? _Fshewsh! _I'm happy enough just to get called to battle."

"Are you sure, Urias?" Lirik asked. "Or are you just saying that because you think you're supposed to?"

Urias frowned and looked long and hard at him. Lirik could almost hear the gears turning as Urias pondered his words. But Urias' eyes narrowed and he stood up off the boulder. His hand strayed to his blaster but did not take it in hand.

"I'm no lord, Lirik, but I know traitor talk when I hear it."

Lirik put his hands up in a placating manner. "Relax, my friend, I was just testing you," Lirik said. "Smoke?"

Urias held onto his skeptical expression for a moment more and then his features lightened and turned hopeful. "You were just testing me? Did I pass?"

"No," Lirik said, and turned his motion of reaching for a cigarra to one of calling Urias' blaster to his hand. It sailed out of the holster and landed easily in Lirik's palm. "You failed," he said, and fired three shots into Urias' chest. The younger man fell to the ground and Lirik swiftly knelt over him.

"I knew it…" Urias gasped. "Traitor…"

"Yes, you're very smart. And I may be a traitor, but I also outrank you. I took off and up, remember? Or down and out, as the case may be." Lirik shook his head and clucked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. "But the point is, Urias, you never once saluted me."

"Traitor," Urias repeated, and wheezed a laugh. "The Count will…kill you dead…like Lanik's…dead…"

Lirik's eyes widened in rage. "Yeah? Well, so are you," he said. He pressed the muzzle of the blaster to Urias' temple and squeezed the trigger.

The murderous hate faded out of Urias' eyes, rendering him no more than a young, dead man lying in the dirt on a gods-forsaken rock, millions of miles away from anything of note. Lirik's own enraged grimace faded. The blaster dropped into the dust as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

Jolee Bindo's disapproving face came to mind and Lirik cursed under his breath. "What?" he demanded, his voice echoing hollowly among the tall, stone towers that stood like sentries around him. "Give me a break, I'm new at this," he muttered aloud and wondered if he were going mad.

The sun was beating down mercilessly on black robes and sweat ran down his neck. His wounds pained him and the cigarra had only made him feel worse. He shielded his eyes with his hand and contemplated the long, hot walk up to the base. His stomach roiled and he thought he might be sick, though from the heat or fear, he couldn't say.

Lirik glanced down at the body of the man he had just killed and then he _was_ sick. His stomach clenched as it emptied onto the sand, and he tried not to let the amount of blood he saw panic him.

He leaned heavily against the boulder to catch his breath, one hand across his body, the other pressed to his mouth. Lirik looked into Urias' dead, staring eyes—the result of his handiwork with the blaster. _The more things change, the more they stay the same,_ he thought and began to walk.

The interior of the base was much cooler than the exterior and Lirik sagged against the wall with relief. There had been times, during his walk, when he had thought that he wasn't going to make it; when the sun seemed like a fiery palm on his back, pressing him down. He coughed more and more, each time bringing up more and more blood, and he silently cursed the droid who had shot him.

_And you too, old man, _Lirik told Jolee. _You claim to be some wise, know-it-all Jedi, but your healing skills are sorely wanting. _He could feel his hate and anger trying to take root again, and when he looked down at his bleeding body, and felt the life draining out of him to splatter on the ground in little red drops, he almost let it.

But once inside the base—there was only one guard to question him and his Persuade had made that a short ordeal—Lirik caught his breath and his anger subsided.

The Sith base on Brisia, once a state-of-the-art stronghold of sleek technology and efficient military defense, was now in disrepair. It seemed to Lirik that ages had passed since the Count had first introduced him to Darth Tertius in the chamber at the eastern end of this base. Lirik remembered how the three-figured Sith Lord had seemed so ripe with power, and how he, Lirik, had been envious. He remembered too, the shock of his lord's wrath curling around his bones in blue fingers of lightning. He remembered the pain and how Lanik had cursed him when he had felt it too.

But now Lanik was dead, the Sith Lord gone, and the base was nearly empty of the power it once held. Lirik stumbled along its wide corridors of black durasteel and glowing red lamps, dusted with a fine coat of the gritty sand that colored the landscape of Brisia.

Another sentry recognized him, welcomed him back, and pointed him towards the Count's chambers.

Lirik marveled that no one detained him. No one forced him to submit to the highly unpleasant bodily search by the security droids. No one locked him in a chamber to wait until the Count summoned him, and no one asked that he leave his weapons where the Count wouldn't see them. If there was one thing the Sith could be trusted for it was that they trusted no one. Even one such as Lirik who had been in service for more than ten years—even he should have been made to submit to a rigorous security check.

_Ah, now I see why,_ Lirik said, as he stood outside the Count's chambers that were devoid of sentries of any kind. He touched a hand to his lightsaber, but the gesture was a weak one. _I must be mad to think I can kill him. Even as old as he is, he'll skewer me in my condition, or Choke me before I can even unclip my weapon. I'll have to rely on my wits. _Lirik snorted derisive laughter for, as if on cue, a wave of dizziness came over him. _Well, that settles it; I'm a dead man. _But Lirik buzzed the door to the Count's chambers without hesitation, and when the rasping and slightly slurred voice in the comm demanded who was there, Lirik's voice did not waver.

"Lirik Thrakill, lord," he said. "I've come to make my final report."

There was a pause and then the door slid open on rusted hinges and Lirik stepped inside.

* * *

**Telos, TSF Station, Med Facility…**

He was laid out on a hospital bed, on top of the blankets so that the tubes and machinery that kept him alive could access the gaping hole in his stomach. He was naked but for his undergarments and Dane quailed at how pale his skin was. His right leg bore a long white scar that ran length-wise from knee to ankle and was held immobile by an intimidating contraption of bars, screws and rods. Dane, remembering with a shudder the awkward angle his leg had stuck out in the snow after the Academy blew, guessed the bones in his lower leg had all been replaced.

_But he's alive,_ she told herself. _Thank the Force for that. _She turned to Jolee.

"But how is he?"

Jolee blew out his cheeks and ran a hand over his head. "Well, he's defying the medicos here. They wanted to do all kinds of operations and pick him apart and try to put him back together again, but I told them 'no'. The Trance is healing him slowly but surely, so all this—" Jolee indicated the array of machines around Atton, "—is playing catch up. They keep him alive until the Force heals what needs to be healed and then they back off. So it's a team effort, so to speak," he said, affecting an optimistic tone.

But Dane could only see Atton, pale, thin, gaunt, his face drawn and colored with faint purple scars, and heard Jolee's optimism ring false.

"He's in danger," Dane whispered. She stretched out a hand to touch him, to channel the Force, but Jolee stopped her.

"You can't do that," he said quietly. "You might pull him out of the Trance and that would be the end, I'm sure of it. The Force that is working in him now can't be touched. It's slow going, I know, but he's getting better day by day." Jolee smiled kindly. "Have faith."

Dane nodded. She ran her hand over Atton's forehead. "He's so far away. Talk to him, Jolee. Guide him back so that he wakes up," she with a sigh. "Of course, I don't know who he will be when he wakes up," she said softly, stroking his hair as he used to do to her. _If he comes back at all, _she thought bitterly.

"You don't reckon I'll have a fight on my hands, do you?" Jolee asked. "Such as it would be with him in this condition and all."

Dane shook her head. "I don't think so. At worst, I think he might leave before I can return and I'll never see him again." Tears filled her eyes and she willed them back. She looked up at Jolee with a tremulous smile on her lips. "See if you can't talk him into staying around for awhile, will you?" she asked. "I'd like for him to see his daughter. Very much."

"Aye, I'll do my best and then some," Jolee said softly.

Dane could only nod. She took a shaky breath and looked down at the unconscious form lying on the bed. "Goodbye, love," she whispered to Atton. She bent over him and kissed his wan cheek. She lingered over that kiss but her tears were spilling down her cheeks and so she quickly straightened. Dane wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her robe. "Okay, I'm ready," she said and quickly left the room.

>>>>>

Carth was waiting for her at the boarding ramp to the _Ebon Hawk_. His arms were crossed over his chest and his expression was entirely unreadable.

"Deke's ready in the cockpit—just needs some directions and HK's already loaded," he said as Dane neared, Jolee at her side. "I've had the ship stocked, so you've got rations enough to last you four standard weeks—if you'll even need that much." Carth's dark eyes looked Dane up and down. "You don't look so hot. Are you sure you're up for this?"

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be and if I'm not it doesn't matter anyway. This moment has been too long in coming," Dane replied.

She turned to Jolee and pressed her cheek against the well-worn Jedi robes he wore and closed her eyes. There was a thousand more things she wanted to say to him, a thousand things to thank him for, and a thousand things she knew to do better because of him, but she felt the urge to hurry. Every passing moment she lingered in Jolee's comforting embrace only made it harder to leave. _And I'm so close to finishing this. The only way out is through. Just a little more and all this will be over._

But she didn't even know if that was true. The war Revan was fighting might be drawing to a close or it may just be starting. Darth Tertius could be the end…or just the beginning of the Sith threat Revan had been facing all along. Dane suddenly felt extremely tired but she pulled out of Jolee's embrace.

Dane smiled. "Goodbye, Jolee."

"All right, goodbye then. Take care of yourself and that baby. Stay out of danger. Let Revan lop Tertius' head off. Both of them. She's more than capable, if I recall and you don't need the aggravation, you hear?"

Dane nodded and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her robe. "Yes, I hear."

Jolee narrowed his eyes at her. "I swear, if you make me start crying like a woman, I'll have to take back all those nice things I said about you, all right?"

Dane could only nod and then she was in his arms again.

"There, there," she heard his voice rumble in his narrow chest. "I can see the end. Can't you?"

"No," she murmured against his shoulder.

"You will. You will," he soothed. "Go on, now," he said. "Go…and may the Force be with you."

Dane pulled away and looked at Jolee, surprised.

"What?" he demanded. "Just because I'm a gray I can't say that? Seems unfair, seeing as how I always wanted to. Just never found the right moment."

Dane smiled through her tears. "May the Force be with you too, my friend," she said, and pushed herself gently away from Jolee and turned to Carth. "Thank you for coming to get me," she told him.

"Any time," he returned with a tight smile. "I never leave one of my own behind."

"Carth…" Dane began, but he cut her off.

"You should go," he said. "I'll be honest, I'm about one standard minute away from running up that ramp, yanking Deke out of the cockpit and piloting this old ship to wherever it is you're going myself. So please, Dane…Just get out of here, will ya?" he said, with forced joviality.

Dane nodded and took a step toward the ramp, then stopped. "Would you like me to tell her something for you, Carth?" she asked softly. "Anything at all?"

Carth chewed his lower lip and looked away; Dane could see he was rallying to keep his emotions in check. She almost left him then, to spare him any embarrassment, but he said gruffly, angrily, "Yeah, there is. Tell her there's only so much a guy's willing to take. Tell her that the entire galaxy might've stooped to kiss her ass at one point, but I was never one of them. Tell her one fracking datapad in four years is not enough. Not enough by a long shot. Tell her…"

Carth threw up his hands in disgust and let his words trail. He turned his back to her then and his shoulders slumped. Dane reached out a hand to touch him when he spoke again, without anger.

"Tell her Carth Onasi is waiting for her."

Dane smiled at her friend. "I will," she said, and then boarded the _Ebon Hawk _for what she hoped

would be her final quest.

* * *

**Brisia…**

"Lirik Thrakill," mused the Count. "I had thought you might never return."

"Of course I have, lord," Lirik replied. "I've come to give my report."

The old Sith, a dark Jedi since the birth of the galaxy, Lirik guessed, chuckled. It was a low, grating noise that sounded nothing like a laugh. "Then you are much braver than I've ever given you credit for."

Lirik fought every urge in his body to call on the Force and erect the strongest barriers and shields he could muster around himself. Instead, he ignored the comment, and stepped further into the Count's chambers.

The room was entirely black and gray and dimly lit by a red halogen that gave the room a murky, bloody caste. The Count himself was sitting in a high-backed chair of black nerf leather in front of desk made of obsidian. A carafe of some amber-colored liquid stood on the desk beside a small glass. The carafe was nearly half-empty and pungent aromas permeated the room—strong liquor mixed with stale odors of the same. The Count, apparently, had been drinking quite a bit—perhaps for several days, Lirik guessed. But however inebriated his lord was, Lirik could still feel the power in him, like a furnace that simmered but had not yet come blazing to full strength. Yet.

Lirik's hand nearly went to his lightsaber, but a twitch of the Count's hooded head and the low, murmuring laugh that ushered out of it, killed the notion. _I was a fool to think I could try, _Lirik thought, preparing for the killing strike. The Count raised his pale, bony hand…and gestured for Lirik to sit.

"You don't look well, Lirik," the Count said rather cheerily. "Not well at all."

"No, lord, I've run into a bit of bad luck," Lirik replied. _Like a Cathar has bad luck in a kennel full of kath hounds. _

"Bad luck," the Count mused, his voice rattling in his throat. "I should say so. But please, by all means," he said, "make your report."

Lirik had no choice but to obey. Without energy, he relayed the events of the last week to his lord, careful to leave out his hand in killing Jude Gracus, but the lies caught in his throat. _He'll only pluck the images right out of my head…why am I still bothering with this charade?_

But the answer was clear to him. His cheek stung with the gash that Jude had given him. The gash reminded him that he was no longer identical to Lanik. _And there is no more Lanik. He is dead. And Jude's dead, and likely Jaq and Dane and that old Jedi are dead, because I escaped the Academy before the bombs blew and I didn't try to help them. __And to top it all off, Urias-fucking-Konn is dead right outside, lying in the dust as the sun rots his flesh and the sand maggots feast on it because I put a blaster bolt between his eyes to burn the hate out of them. And here…here is where it all began. I've followed the stench of death back to its source…_

Lirik's fingers clenched the armrests of the chair. He cleared his throat and looked into the cowl's shadows that concealed his lord's face. He pushed all of the images from his mind that would incriminate him and called upon his anger. He used it to paint the rest of his report in shades of red and black—the signature colors of the Sith—so that when the Count peered at him through the Force, he would see and feel that Lirik was still one of his own. When he was finished, Lirik fell into a moody silence. Instead of a Force barrier, he kept a wall of anger around his thoughts and plotted how to kill his lord behind it.

"An interesting tale," the old Sith said, and took a very small sip from his cup. Lirik could only see the Count's thin lips as they grimaced when the liquor went down, and the younger man guessed that whatever the his lord was drinking, it was extremely potent.

"I would say the loss of your brother is an unfortunate one," the Count continued, "especially considering that, of the two of you, his was possessed of the more keen intellect." The old man chuckled dryly. "But it doesn't matter," he added with a wave of his thin hand. "Darth Tertius will do what I've always planned for him to do and it matters not if my operatives are dead or alive as he does it." He turned his cowled head to Lirik. "Besides, you've absolutely ruined the one advantage there was to keeping you around with that cut on your face. But even that is of little consequence. Lanik is, after all, dead."

Lirik suffered the Count's ridicule and more derisive laughter—used them both to build his protection stronger. _Keep him talking and wait. Just wait. _

"And what is it Darth Tertius is meant to do?" Lirik asked, using every iota of his talent to keep his face neutral, his voice natural. "Since his inception, I've been intrigued, lord."

The Count was silent and Lirik felt the silence between them grow thick and heavy. "Have I never explained to you my pet's purpose?" he asked finally. His tone was light and his words were slightly slurred, but Lirik was not fooled into lowering his guard.

"No, lord. You've shown me a taste of his power," Lirik said, remembering the shock that the Sith Lord had levied against him. "But you have not—"

The Count scoffed. "That was not Darth Tertius' power. That was not even the smallest fraction of it. Shock and terror and all the rest of it are child's play. Tertius is so much more. He is _capable _of so much more. He is the ultimate wielder of dark side power. He is the ultimate weapon of the Sith."

The Count hissed the last words and Lirik, despite himself, grew curious. "How so, lord?"

The old man chuckled again, a dry rattle that held no mirth, and then it died as abruptly as it came. He straightened in his chair, leaned forward and spoke in a tone of such pure venom, that Lirik unconsciously shrank back in his own seat.

"I will tell you, Lirik Thrakill, despite the fact that you have done nothing to earn another breath of my air, nor another cycle of the blood that pulses through your broken body. The wounds you carry are killing you and for that, I can only wish upon you the worst pain and agonizing _slowness_ of your death. Or perhaps I will speed it on, since you have failed me to such a degree your very presence—living, breathing, _bleeding_ on my chamber floor—is an abomination to me." The Count's lips turned into a smile then. "But, since there is no one else to share my final triumph with, it may as well be you. You—pathetic wretch that you are—who can only be called a Sith because the dark robes you wear mark you as such."

Lirik's blood froze and he thought the Count had seen through his shields, but a tiny, hesitant probe with the Force showed that the Count's words were not born of suspicion, but only of derision for Lirik's failure. _He doesn't suspect me, not yet. He only mocks me, and that I will suffer a little longer. But only a little…_

The Count sat back in his chair and Lirik could feel his lord's anger abate slightly, to be replaced by pride and the all-to-familiar lust for power. Lirik sensed in the Count that his failures were numerous: the base was empty, his troops decimated, his best operatives dead or dying. But the Count was looking beyond that and seeing a triumph Lirik couldn't imagine. Even if Darth Tertius managed to win and defeat Revan, there was still a full, if fractured, Jedi Council to contend with and a Republic army that outnumbered the Sith forces a thousand to one. Lirik couldn't fathom what possible future victory his lord was gazing upon, and it made him nervous.

"Darth Tertius is my greatest servant—my greatest _invention_," the Count amended. "The ultimate weapon. Why? Because while it took you nearly a week to even begin to turn that renegade assassin to the dark side, it took Tertius ten minutes. That…is his power."

Lirik blinked and controlled himself well enough to keep from scoffing in derision. _That's what I was worried about? The old man's lost it. _"Pardon me, but, while impressive, I fail to see how Darth Tertius' turning of Jaq is in any way more remarkable. After all, I had brought Jaq to the brink. Lord Tertius merely pushed him over."

The Count began to laugh then, cold, grating, and Lirik's uneasiness began to grow again. "You think so, eh?" his lord wheezed. "Fool. Do you know why there are three of him?" he asked suddenly. "Because he is weak. Physically weak. And he is weak in the Force when it comes to your petty shocks and terrors and choking of life."

_Yes, as if I invented those techniques, _Lirik thought with a mental roll of his eyes, but his lord's words intrigued him, and he ignored the insults levied at him and listened.

"Darth Tertius was one man when he came to me. Or, I should say, when I found him. He was a carnival worker on Corellia, traveling with a show." The Count took a sip of his drink and then continued. "And what did my young ward do? Why, he was a hypnotist. He earned his credits by making local brutes behave like cowards and turning captains of militias into drooling sycophants. I could feel the power in him, his ability to get inside his victims' minds and force them to look at what they did not want to see… He was a success because he used the Force and I was impressed with his inclinations. He enjoyed watching the big men prance and the strong men tremble and it was then that inspiration struck me.

"I bought the young man out of the carnival and brought him here. I trained him in the use of the lightsaber and while he was more than proficient, he was no great master. I opened up his mind further to the Force and he became adept at channeling the power and using to injure, maim, and kill…He was already a sadistic little cur, so my task was easy. But he was no prodigy.

"His greatest strength was in his ability to channel the Force, to use it in conjunction with his hypnotizing abilities…and turn people to the dark side. Once I had opened him to it, he found a way to harness and use the darkest energies of the Force and use them to make others fall. _That_ is why he is my ultimate weapon."

Lirik sat back in his chair. _And that is why Tertius positively reeks of the dark side, so much so that you can feel him coming a mile away. _He looked to the Count. "And the other two? Who are they?"

"Not who," the Count said, clearly pleased with himself. "What. With such a prize as Tertius was, I recognized his weaknesses. He could be bested in a lightsaber duel by a highly skilled opponent, so I built him a strength enhancement. His standard Force powers were strong but not strong enough, so I built him an intelligence enhancement. That done, I linked them altogether so the Tertius would always have control."

Lirik opened his mouth to protest but the Count silenced him with an upraised hand.

"How can a machine wield the Force?" he mused. "It can't, but a mind, heart, and blood of a once-living Force-adept could. I could not see a way to assign guards to Tertius, and even if I forcibly linked live humans to him to serve him, the possibility that one or both would turn on him in a fit of ambitious rage was too strong. I needed him protected, but I needed him in control. His current…_associates_, as it were, are the remains of two failed attempts at giving him protection. The heart and mind and blood of two Sith, surrounded by a cybernetic humanoid frame and wired directly into Tertius own brain, provide the protection he needs. Where he once wielded one lightsaber, he now has three. Where he once had to stop to levy a Force shock into an enemy, he can now do so and still utilize two other methods of attack. But," the Count added with a dismissive wave of his hand, "that is all child's play, as I have said before. The other two are merely there to guard the greatest skill that only the living Tertius can wield. To turn others to our cause."

A coughing fit overcame Lirik and he wiped yet more blood off his chin. He thought about Jaq and how his own work had brought the assassin close to the edge, but it was Tertius who has so easily finished the job. _Yes, but did it last? _

"You doubt Tertius' ability, yes?" the Count asked. "It's all right, Lirik. I hardly expect you to grasp fully the ramifications of what I have set out to do. Darth Tertius is en route to Rattatak now, to Revan."

Lirik kept his face neutral. "To battle her, or …?"

"To turn her."

Lirik coughed. "To turn her. Revan. The enemy we have been fighting for the last three years. Just like that?"

"Your doubt grows tiresome, Lirik," the Count said, his voice tight. But then he leaned back in his chair, the thin smile returning to his lips. "But, in the end, it matters very little what you believe or don't believe. I feel your life Force ebbing away; it is unlikely you will even live long enough to see the fruits of my labor…and know how very wrong you were to underestimate Darth Tertius' power."

Lirik coughed and more red stained his chin. "Forgive me, lord, it's just that Revan is…" He coughed again but his lord seemed to understand his meaning.

The Count smiled. "Revan, for all her wondrous skill and power, fell. That is the simple truth of it. She fell long and far and quite beautifully, and even now I feel her struggle to keep the darkness at bay. She can't remember all that she once was and so she fears it as we all fear the unknown. Darth Tertius is going to exploit that weakness and the Sith's greatest lord—yes, greater than myself—will return to her rightful place. Only this time, she will be under my thrall and there will be no return to the light for her."

Lirik's coughing fit grew worse. He pressed his sleeve to his mouth and said in between gasping breaths, "And the Exile? What of her? I believe…she still lives."

The Count set down his glass and steepled his fingers together. "How bold of you to illuminate your most glaring failure even further," he murmured and then shrugged. "The Exile served Revan once before. She can do it again, or Revan will kill her."

Lirik was bent over now, his stomach clenching and heaving, and he felt as if he'd swallowed a nest of broken glass. "The Exile…is lighter than…a super nova…" he gasped in between bouts of coughing. "How…?"

The Count only laughed again. "Even the brightest suns burn out, leaving black holes in their stead," he said. "Dane Koren will be no different."

Lirik was half-fallen out of his chair with coughing. He rose shakily to his feet, one hand gripping the chair, the other pressed to his mouth. "Pardon…lord…'fresher…" he managed to gasp, before exiting chambers, the Count's pitiless laughter following after.

Once outside, Lirik sagged against the wall and tried to catch his breath. His performance had been a little too convincing—the front of his robes was covered in blood and his injuries screamed with every movement. _I'm dying, _he thought. _That hardly seems fair. _

He remembered that there was a commcenter a few doors down from the Count's chambers. With a quick glance to see that the way was clear, Lirik hurried with a limping gate down the corridor. He found the room after two failed attempts yielded him the refresher he had pretended to be in need of, and a storage closet.

The chamber was dim and quiet but for a few blinking lights and whirring of machinery. The commcenter was still powered up and Lirik quickly sat before it. He punched up the codes that granted him access to the holoweb. A smiling woman in a neutral uniform asked for his listing in a loud, cheery voice. Lirik cringed but didn't know where the lever to control the volume was set.

"Coruscant," he told the recorded image of the woman. There was a pause as the holoweb's search engine processed his request. Then the woman came to life again.

"Of course. Coruscant," she beamed. "What listing?"

Lirik was about to reply when another fit of coughing, this one not of his own prompting, doubled him over and the keypad became flecked with red.

_This is getting old, _he thought, and then Lirik channeled the Force to heal himself.

He did it without hesitation or consideration that he couldn't, and it wasn't until the coughing eased and the pain receded, did he realize what he'd done.

"Well, I suppose they'll take away my Sith membership card now," he muttered, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He heaved a deep, cough-free breath and turned back to the smiling woman who was waiting patiently for his listing.

"Jedi Temple," he said, wondering idly if Jolee Bindo had returned to Coruscant or not.

"Here is your listing," said the hologram. "Sector V7; GZ33879, Government Zone. Have a nice day."

"Thanks, sweetcakes," Lirik murmured. His hand strayed to the keypad to punch in the code when he felt danger, like a cold hand on the back of his neck, touch him through the Force.

Lirik dodged to his left and attempted to slip out of his chair, but he was too slow. Something crashed into the base of his skull with a dull _thud_ and his vision grayed out. Strong hands gripped him painfully by the upper arms and yanked him to his feet. He was spun roughly around and peered through blurred vision at the Sith—a dark Jedi—standing before him. Two other soldiers held him fast in their grip.

"Urias Konn never returned from his shift," said one, and jabbed his fist at the blaster hole that HK-47 had left in Lirik's groin. "Know anything about that?"

Lirik, bent double in his captor's grip, could not speak. He raised his head and stared down the Sith in front of him. "Eat mynock shit," he wheezed, earning another punch to the midsection.

"Come on," urged the guard on his right. "The Count is waiting."

"Not so fast," said the Sith before him, and Lirik could feel the man readying his own Force energy should Lirik try anything. "Urias was a friend of mine," he said. "I'd like to hear why you put a blaster bolt through his skull, traitor."

"Because," Lirik said, "it was the path of least resistance."

The dark Jedi blinked.

"For the bullet," Lirik explained and smiled a sickly, blood-stained smile.

The dark Jedi blinked again and when Lirik laughed at his confusion, the Sith's face turned an ugly shade of red. Lirik's head snapped to the side with the force of the blow and he felt the gash along his cheek open and spill hot blood down his face. Other blows came but Lirik was soon past feeling them. Dimly, he felt himself hauled back down the hallway, back to the Count's chambers.

_I tried, old man, _he thought. _I tried. That's got to be worth something, right?_

But there was no answer, only the black square of the Count's doorway and the dark side energy that lurked within.

* * *

**Revan's hidden fortress, Rattatak….**

Deke landed the _Ebon Hawk _on a small square of desert that was only barely visible through the gray dust that had been blown across it. The hail from some unseen base or outpost had given him the coordinates, or else he would not have seen the landing pad at all. His brow furrowed as he remembered that hail. The speaker did not ask for identification or purpose of visit, but seemed to have been expecting them. General Koren only shrugged at that and had muttered the name 'Revan.' But her eyes now scanned the skies and ground. Deke figured she was looking for the Sith Lord she had chased here, but of that enemy, there was no sign.

The _Ebon Hawk_ touched down and Deke joined the general in the hold. HK-47 stood beside her as she strapped various weapons on to her person. He and the general and T3-M4 had labored over repairing the hunter-killer unit during the three-day journey to Rattatak. The droid had complained mightily about its frequent abuse and lack of shielding against Force attacks. Deke had found some more advanced plating in the garage and had affixed it to the droid's central neural unit—at the back of its head—and the droid had quieted.

Now, Deke waited silently until General Koren had finished her preparations.

"Remember, you are bound by my orders—mine and the Admiral's—to not speak of this. Tell no one where I am. It is too dangerous."

Deke nodded. "Of course, sir. On my life, I will tell no one."

The general smiled briefly. "Thank you for bringing me here," she said. She turned to go, the Hunter-Killer unit clanking behind her. Her gaze ran over the interior of the ship. "And thank you for taking care of the _Hawk._"

"I will return for you in it, General Koren," Deke said. "You only need call."

She nodded and smiled"I'd like that."

Two men were waiting for Dane on the landing pad when she stepped off the ramp. A tall, hulking man with an imposing weapon cradled in his massive arms, and a shorter, bearded Jedi in shabby robes. Dane saw, out of the corner of her eye, HK-47's visio-receptors flash at both men and she put a restraining hand out.

"We're the intruders, HK," she reminded him.

"Scoffing Reply: Hardly seems relevant," he intoned, but he lowered his carbine…slightly.

"General Koren," said the Jedi, stepping forward. He bowed quickly. "I'm Captain Erdo Tavvar, this is Brus Missil. We've been expecting you."

A small flicker of a smile touched Dane's lips. "I'm not surprised."

Captain Tavvar's sharp gaze landed on HK-47. "Is the droid really necessary?"

There was a hint of a threat in his tone, and it was clear that Captain Tavvar's first and foremost interest was caution.

"I'm afraid so," Dane replied. "This unit belongs to Revan. I am returning it to her."

The hulking form of Brus Missil grunted and Captain Tavvar rubbed his beard. After a moment, he shrugged. "Fair enough. Time's short anyway, and Commander Revan said you could be trusted. But for my own personal gratification, I'm going to ask that the droid turn his weapon over to Brus here, until further notice."

HK-47 was inclined to protest, but Dane silenced him and the carbine was relinquished.

"Irritated Query: It is puzzling to me how I am expected to perform my duties as a _Hunter-Killer_ unit while bereft of any weaponry," HK complained.

"There's no enemy yet to perform your duties on," Captain Tavvar said and then began walking. Dane fell into step beside him.

"The Sith Lord? It hasn't come?"

Tavvar glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "No, but Commander Revan has us preparing for an assault, though she wouldn't say what, when, or how. Sith Lord, eh?"

Dane nodded. "I had thought it would be here already," she said and quickly relayed the events of Telos.

"No, no sign of any threat yet," Tavvar said, "but after we're inside, everything goes into lockdown and we wait."

"Query: Pardon me, but my audioreceptors were immediately clogged with sand the moment we stepped down onto this unpleasant bit of rock. Did you say we are to wait? Wait for what?"  
"Battle," Brus intoned, startling even HK with is deep, baritone voice.

The droid seemed to smile. "Thinly Veiled Threat: If there is battle, hulking meatbag, I _will_ expect my weapon back. You'd hate to have me come looking for you to retrieve it."

Brus only grunted and then Captain Tavvar was speaking a code into a rock and ushering them down into the tunnels below Rattatak.

Dane wondered at the quality of life Revan had been leading these last three years on this dry, dusty planet on the Outer Rim. But as Captain Tavvar escorted her and HK-47 down the dim, snaking path to the first chamber, Dane sensed instantly that the base Revan had chosen to operate from was far more intricate and sophisticated than the rough, blasted-rock cavern would indicate.

"Normally, we would escort you ourselves to Commander Revan's chambers," Captain Tavvar said, "but there is an operative who heard you were coming and said she wanted the job herself."

"Hope you don't mind," came a low, feminine voice from behind Dane. The Exile turned to see a short, red-haired woman dressed in Jedi robes that she had somehow managed to arrange so that they hugged her body seductively. Because of the robes, or perhaps because of the rush of events that had led Dane, after all this time, to Revan's doorstep, it took her almost half a minute before she recognized Mira standing before her.

"I'm off on another job in about ten standard minutes, but I wanted to wait to see you," she said.

Dane was speechless as Mira embraced her tightly for a moment. "How…?"

Mira shrugged. "You told me I'd do something to help. I wanted to help instead of hunt and I somehow ended up here. But you know what? I'm not really surprised. Never was."

Dane smiled. "Neither am, now that I think about it."

"Thanks, guys," Mira said to Tavvar and Brus. "I've got it from here."

The captain nodded and gave a short, perfunctory bow to Dane. Brus grunted and they both turned to leave.

"Irritated Command: Stop right there, giant meatbag," HK-47 intoned. "Unequivocal Demand: Not without my weapon will I proceed one step further."

"It's okay," Mira told Brus. "He's with us."

Both men seemed unwilling to relinquish the carbine but Dane sensed an urgency in their movements that made the normally rigid rules bendable. Brus handed over the weapon after a nod from Tavvar and then both men went about their business.

"Satisfied Reply: That's more like it."

Mira rolled her eyes. "I see you couldn't get rid of HK," she said, and motioned for them to walk. They veered right and entered a blackened tunnel that was lined with a halogen lamp every few paces and that slanted downward. "How's everyone else? Seen them lately?"

"It's a long story. Far too long to relay now, but yes, I've been in contact with all of them."

Mira suddenly stopped short and peered at Dane, her green eyes wide in the dim light of the tunnel. "You're pregnant!" she exclaimed. "Holy cannock shit, Dane! Who? Wait, let me guess…" Mira laughed again, and Dane could see it was a genuine, good-natured laugh. "Damn girl, I guess you have been 'in contact' with Atton, eh? Does he know?"

"Yes," Dane said quietly as they continued walking, HK clumping after. "He knows."

Mira's laughter died. "So, it's not exactly a happy occasion?" she asked gently. "Sorry, Dane, didn't mean to pry into your business."

"It's all right. As I said, it is a long story, one I don't think either of us have time for."  
"You're right about that, no matter how badly I'm dying to hear it," Mira admitted as the narrow tunnel forked and then forked again. She guided them without hesitation through a myriad of twists and turns, never once faltering in her step.

"But listen," she said, after a minute, "if there's one thing I've learned from being here is that nothing ever stays the same. Things get better or they get worse. It sounds like things took a turn for the worse for you, so that means it has to get better soon."

Dane smiled thinly. "Thanks, Mira. I hope you're right."

"I know I am," she said, and Dane marveled at the change in the woman. Her edge was still there but now it was one devoid of bitterness and the restlessness she had exhibited during their quest. She was as sharp as ever, but happier too, and Dane was glad the ex-bounty hunter had found a purpose beyond the endless intrigues and bloodshed of Nar Shaddaa.

"So how did you know?" Dane asked.

"That you were knocked up? The Force," Mira replied. "Don't look too surprised, you were the one that started me down this clean, yet marginally chaste path," she said with a laugh. "Revan just tied all the pieces together, you know. That's one of her gifts."

_I hope you're right, _Dane thought and the three continued on in silence.

"Well, this is it," Mira said, finally stopping at what appeared to be a dead end. She pressed a button on her wrist chrono and the face lit up to reveal the time. "Damn, I'm behind schedule." She smiled at Dane. "But it was worth it."

Mira reached out and touched what looked like nothing more than a scar in the rock. The mark lit up—a tiny pinprick of yellow light and a voice, smoky and low, emerged from some speaker Dane couldn't see.

"Yes, Mira?"

"Dane's here," Mira said.

There was a short pause and then the voice said, "Good."

Mira stepped away from the rock as a piece of the wall detached itself from the rest and slid into itself to reveal a chamber beyond.

"Like I said, I'm already late," Mira said. "Go on in, she's been waiting for you."

Dane nodded and Mira embraced her quickly. "It's good to see you again, Dane," she said. "You too, Tin Man," she said, giving HK a rap on his shoulder plating. "Be careful," Mira called as she started down the tunnel again. "I hear some heavy shit's coming your way. I'd stay to help if Revan hadn't given me my own heavy shit to deal with elsewhere. I'm headed to Brisia—wherever that is. Too bad; sounds like I'll miss all the fun here." Mira smiled warmly. "Take care, now, Dane. And may the Force be with you," she said and then was gone.

Dane watched as Mira's shadow vanished around the corner. She took a deep breath to steady herself. _Mira…here? _So much had happened in such a short amount of time, her head was spinning. _And I need to be clear-headed for this meeting,_ she thought. She was suddenly glad HK-47 was with her, even if the droid couldn't care less about anything besides where his next kill was going to come from.

Dane heaved another breath and marched into the chamber.

"General Koren," the gravelly, feminine voice greeted her.

Dane inclined her head slightly.

"Hello, Revan."

* * *

_A/N: I will honestly try to get the replies to reviewers up tonight on my homepage so I can personally thank all of you for reading and reviewing. If I'm late, I'll just say here that, as always, I am immensely grateful to all of you for taking the time to let me know what you think. You make this all worth it—when I am in the deepest throes of The Block I re-read reviews and can't help but feel bolstered. So thanks._

_So, one chap down, two to go, plus and epilogue and no-doubt rambling A/N. ;)_

_Up next: Revan and Dane have their tete-a-tete, all hell breaks loose in the Force, and Lirik discovers why smoking and drinking just seem to go so well together._

_Thanks again!_

_Trillian_


	44. Revan, Part I

**Chapter 44**

**Revan**

**Part I: Psychological Warfare**

_Dane huddled against her bunk, leaning her forehead on the durasteel frame to cool it. Fever gripped her so that she felt as though her blood was simmering under her skin. At the same time, chills rattled her bones and she hugged herself tightly. She didn't know how long she had been locked in her quarters on the _Firestar,_ crouched on the floor, whimpering and flinching as the dead haunted her vision and the Force turned sour in her soul. _It doesn't matter, _she thought dully. _From now on, there is only the memory of what I have done…seeped into every moment of my life, there will only be that…

_She heard herself moan and she squeezed her eyes shut. From far away came a beeping sound, followed by a knock. Dane ignored both and huddled deeper in the blood-stained and grimy jacket of her Republic-issue uniform. _

_The beeping persisted and knocks grew louder until finally Dane felt the air in the room shift and she was vaguely aware that the door to her quarters had been forced open. Revan strode into the room in a cloud of her overpowering Force presence. Like a fierce perfume, it swept through the room, but Dane detected a foul stench tingeing Revan's green and icy energies ever so slightly. _

Dane opened her eyes to a bleary view of Revan's black booted feet, and then Revan swiftly knelt so that she was face to face with her general.

_"I came to say good-bye, and to thank you," Revan said in her gravelly voice. She laid a black-gauntleted hand on Dane's shoulder. "If I had known what power would be unleashed when you activated the generator, I would have done it myself. But I suppose I can't have everything." Revan smiled the smile that had unmanned an army and had set the galaxy at her feet. "At least, not yet."_

_And then she was gone, striding out of Dane's quarters, leaving the general alone with her wounded Force and her memory of the lamenting dead who had so loudly, and with such anguish, proclaimed the folly of her deeds. _

And so they were still, faint and soft, as Dane stepped into Revan's chamber.

"Wait outside, HK," she ordered. The droid was hers until Revan gave it an order… and for reasons not yet known to her, she suddenly didn't want Revan to control HK. Not yet.

HK-47 made to protest but reluctantly agreed after Dane shot him a glance that even a droid could read. He executed a clanking about-face and took up a post outside the door as the rocky structure slid shut again.

Dane used the Force to speed her eyes' adjustment to the dimness of the chamber. It was roughly rectangular-shaped, the door Dane entered from being at one end. Revan sat at the other. The ex-Sith Lord was sitting behind an immaculately clean desk upon which lay orderly stacks of datapads and datacards. She was smoking a cigarra, the smoke of which wreathed her head in lazy, blue-gray tendrils. A hologlobe—presumably of Rattatak—cast a reddish-gray light over her face. It was the only source of light in the chamber besides the multi-colored lights from a map of the galaxy laid into the floor in front of the desk. Thousands of white, pinpoint lights sparkled for stars, and Dane now stood on the hazy gray orb that represented Korriban.

"General Dane Koren," Revan mused from her end, and suddenly—with a trick of the Force—was standing a few paces away from Dane, her hand outstretched. "Long time, no see."

Dane flinched and took a step back, her lightsaber jumping into her hand and igniting a moment later.

Revan whistled low between her teeth and dropped her hand. "You look the same as I remember you, General," she said, "only you're a bit slower now. Most people only wait one standard minute before drawing a weapon on me—you gave me two."

"With a trick like that…" Dane said, swallowing hard as her throat had gone dry. She kept her lightsaber leveled between herself and the most powerful Jedi in the known universe, gripping it tightly with both hands.

Revan smiled and said in her smoky voice, "Oh, Dane, I've got tricks you can't imagine," she said with a wink and then, with a blur and a ripple in the Force, Revan was sitting on the edge of her desk some twenty paces away, while a decanter poured its amber-colored contents into two small glasses. She peered at Dane through the smoke of her cigarra tucked into the corner of her mouth. "What's the matter? Not still mad at me about the mass shadow generator, are you? Come now, General, don't be like that. I'm sorry it tore a hole in you, but that's just war. And you're not going to get a lot of sympathy from me—not when I so recently acquired my missing memories of my time as a Sith. Maybe before, when I couldn't remember that I had once annihilated an entire planet's government, religion, and _language—_in that order—just to see if I could…maybe before then I could have mustered up some sympathy for you, but not now. Not a chance."

Revan's jovial manner had turned dark during her speech, her raspy voice grew cold. Dane kept her blade aloft, trying to gauge the woman before her. Was she the Commodore of the Fleet, the Sith Lord, or the personality the Jedi created for the sake of the first and for the redemption of the second? One woman, or an amalgam of three? Dane didn't know and so she moistened her lips and asked the question everyone who had known Revan—friend, Jedi, lover, or Sith—wanted an answer to.

"Who are you?"

And because Dane's last memory of Revan was of a conqueror well on her way to the dark side, Dane used the Force to ask her question too. Revan ran a hand through her pixie-short blond hair with one hand and made a dismissive wave of her other. With that gesture, Dane felt her Force rebuffed; Revan having swatted it away as though it were a pestering gnat.

"You won't find anything there," Revan said, her demeanor still hard. "I've had to construct many barriers and shields around myself to keep prying eyes away. You'll just have take my word for it, General Koren," Revan said. "I'm not your enemy."

Dane narrowed her eyes. "To some, it may seem like a lot that you ask to be taken at your word," she said slowly.

From clear across the dim chamber, Dane could see the charismatic smile that had won Revan nearly as many battles off the field as her genius had won on them. Her smile turned into a chuckle and her chuckle turned into a throaty laugh.

"I remember, now, why I always liked you, General Koren," Revan said. "You never fail to tell the absolute truth—no matter how unappealing it may be to hear. Before this day is through, I hope you will be able to say the same of me. And I'll start by answering your question as best I can, but not like this. Not with you way over there and me over here, and your pretty green blade between us. Come," Revan said, moving around her desk to sit behind it. "Sit, and let's pretend we're not underground on some rock halfway to nowhere, but let us talk civilized-like."

A chair that had been sitting in some dark corner of the chamber glided across the star map and came to rest in front of Revan's desk. Revan gestured for Dane to take it, leaning back in her own chair and drawing heavily on her cigarra that had a pungent, exotic smell.

Dane hesitated a moment more. She could feel that Revan had told the truth and had barricaded herself with the Force. In fact, the entirety of the Rattatak base was under the same shields—the air felt heavy and thick, and Dane marveled at Revan's power that she could blanket an entire fortress as another might protect only one's body.

Revan sighed. "Dane, for gods' sake, if I wanted you dead, you'd be there already. Now, sit, before I decide HK-47 might make better company."

Dane sent out another tiny probe of the Force and watched as Revan, a bored expression on her beautiful features, blinked her eye. The probe vanished and Dane mustered her courage. She disengaged her lightsaber approached Revan. _I will learn nothing by remaining at odds with her,_ she reasoned, _and I have come too far to bicker. _Another, more sentimental emotion came over her, and Dane remembered the days before Revan fell, in which the two women had been great friends, as well as commander and general. _Is it too much to hope that some of that friendship is still there? _she wondered, and regretted drawing her weapon on Revan.

She stepped past Yavin IV on the exquisite galaxy map that made the floor look as though it were strewn with diamonds and gemstones. She stepped around one of Corellia's moons to take her seat at the chair in front of Revan's desk.

"It's good to see you again," Revan said, a soft smile touching her lips. "I know the feeling is not likely to be reciprocated, but that's all right. Even if you hate me, I'm just glad to look upon a face I knew from…before."

"I don't hate you," Dane replied softly. "I just don't know who you are."

"Ah, yes," Revan said. "The _question,_ still." She smiled again and took a sip from one of the two full glasses her decanter had poured for her. "I'd offer you a drink," she told Dane, after a moment, "but it would seem as though you're going to have to abstain from such pleasantries for awhile, eh?" She sat back in her chair. "And I suppose you'd prefer it if I didn't smoke, either, given your delicate condition, but I can't make any promises on the cigarras. "

Dane smiled faintly. She was acutely conscious that, while she was in Revan's presence, every thought, feeling, emotion, or concept she had would be fully available for Revan to read. Dane felt as though she were completely naked while Revan was clad in the heaviest armor. But the woman in her longed to tell Revan everything. The general in Dane tallied her disadvantages and she shifted in her chair.

"Congratulations," Revan was saying, lifting her glass. "Who is the father? Anyone I know?"

"Actually, yes," Dane replied. "I'm surprised you even have to ask."

A troubled, dark expression came over Revan's features. "So am I. Whoever he is, you're hiding him well."

Dane frowned. "I do not hide him at all," she said. "On the contrary, he is at the forefront of my thoughts more often than not."

"What's his name?"

Dane shook her head. "I won't tell you. Not yet." She leaned forward in her chair, using the Force to blow the cloud of cigarra smoke away from her. "The Revan I served under in the war didn't drink or smoke," she said with a nod at the glass and the cigarra in each of Revan's hands, "but you do. Start by answering my question, and we'll go from there."

Revan narrowed her eyes at Dane. "I see. The tactician in you demands an equal playing field, is that it? I don't blame you; I'd want the same." Revan's demeanor grew softer and Dane could see shadows flit over the woman's dark blue eyes. "It's a long story, Dane…"

"So is mine," Dane replied softly. "Tell me."

Revan stubbed out her cigarra and sighed. "All right," she said, crossing her arms on the table and leaning forward. "I'll tell you what I know. Three years, eight months, and eleven days ago I left Telos. That's where most everyone thinks the story begins, right? The redeemed Sith Lord made good, saved the galaxy—even if she did it under a fake name and with a doctored persona—and then…" Revan made a fist and then splayed her fingers, "_poof._ She's gone. A victim of her guilt, maybe. A broken woman overcome with returning memories, perhaps. Or a frightened woman, running away to the Outer Rim to wrestle with her demons? All wrong."

Dane kept her face neutral. It was typical of Revan to speak of herself so dramatically, but while Dane was mildly annoyed at the other woman's mannerisms, a part of her was glad. The more she recognized of the Revan she had known during the war, the better.

Revan lit another cigarra and took a drag before continuing. "It was none of the skrag, Dane. I left because I had a job to do, pure and simple. I had determined that I had not just spent the last six months destroying the remnants of my own Sith empire, only to have it build itself back up again while I was busy patting myself on the back. You can understand that, can't you? As a general? As a soldier?"

"Kreia said you went to fight the true Sith," Dane said. "That you knew they were there, waiting in the dark."

"Kreia was a fool nine times out of ten," Revan scoffed, "but she got that right." Her expression softened. "I could feel them, Dane, and they were growing stronger by the day. I couldn't stay and let it happen, and wait for the war to come Telos, or Coruscant, or Dantooine…Not again. So I decided to cut off the infected limb before it spread to the heart of the galaxy."

"But the war did come to Coruscant and Telos and Dantooine," Dane interjected softly. "The Sith came after me." She looked at Revan. "You must know about Bastila."

Revan nodded. "Of course," she said, and Dane thought the other woman was irritated for having been interrupted. _Like an actor whose lines have been stepped on, _the Exile thought.

"Bastila's death was…unfortunate," Revan said, "but it didn't surprise me. You know how the arc of war goes, General. It swings wide, to test the battlefield, and then contracts again once the players have a feel for their enemies. That was all the Sith did. They'd been playing hide-and-seek with me for three years. It was only a matter of time before one of us blinked and executed a bold maneuver to test the waters. Bastila was the first point they scored. Learning of my whereabouts was the second." Revan shrugged. "And while I'll miss her, in a way, I can't help but feel that she died as she had wanted. She took down a Sith operative, didn't she? A rather high-profile one, if my spies were correct—and I know they were." Revan smiled, clearly pleased with herself.

"Bastila Shan was a highly decorated, deeply respected Jedi Master and soldier," Dane said. "Her feats during the Jedi Civil war—specifically pertaining to stopping _you_—will go down in the historical files as some of the bravest acts of heroism this millennia. Taking down Lanik Thrakill—a Sith spy who knifed her like a mugger in a dark alley—was _not_, I believe, how she would have wanted to finish her service to this galaxy." _But she didn't fall, _Dane had to admit, _and for that she was proud. _

Revan studied Dane for a moment and then shrugged. "But she didn't fall," she said, "that was my point, for I know she had struggled with that still."

Dane nodded and said nothing to her own thoughts spoken aloud.

"Anyway," Revan said, lighting a new cigarra off the old and flicking the used butt to the floor with her thumb and forefinger. "I wanted to stop a confrontation—a _major _confrontation—before it could begin, and so I left Telos." The swagger in Revan's voice suddenly vanished and her gravelly voice grew soft.

"And I know there are those who would have preferred me to be operate with a little less subterfuge, and a lot more honesty. But I couldn't tell him, Dane," Revan said, meeting her eyes. "I couldn't explain it all. That goodbye would have taken too long and been too hard, and in the end I would have just given up and stayed."

"I've seen him," Dane said quietly.

"I thought you might."

"He said—"

"_No,"_ Revan exclaimed, slamming her palm on the desk and making Dane jump. "Not now. I won't talk of him now," she said. "Later," she added and mustered a small smile to soften her previous words. "I need to pace myself, you know? First the memories of my time as Dark Lord of the Sith have returned, and now you..."

Dane's eyes widened and she looked hard at the woman before her. "Your memories have come back?" she asked. "I…I don't know what to say."

"Of course you don't. What can you say? There are no polite ways to respond to such a thing, and I know you, Dane. I know you want to say you're sorry, but don't. It would mean exactly squat because no one is sorrier than me."

"But I am sorry," Dane said slowly. "It must be difficult to have relearned all that had come to pass…"

"Difficult? I'll tell you what was difficult! Thinking your life was your own and then finding out it was all the figment of the Jedi Council's fertile imagination," Revan thundered, her gravelly voice grating and harsh.

"I knew nothing but what others had told me," Revan continued. "Before three days ago my life as the Sith Lord was hearsay and rumor and I had to see snippets of my own life on the latest newsvids. Nothing was my own. Nothing! And I was slowly beginning to realize too, that nothing I had done over those six months was mine either. Not training to be a Jedi all over again, not being bonded to Bastila, not the hunt for the Star Forge, not killing Malak, not…Carth" Revan choked on the name but continued. "None of that was mine. That was Arax Saraan. And before that, during the war? That was Revan the miscreant Jedi, whose good deeds and clever planning saved the galaxy only so that yet another Revan could personally threaten it later." Revan shook her head. "When I left Telos, I left to find out just who the hell I am. So you want to know if I smoke or drink or clip my lightsaber on the other side of my belt, well hell, Dane, so do I."

There was a silence in which Revan's ire hung in the air as tangible as her cigarra smoke. Finally Dane said, in a small voice, "All this time you've been here, alone, as these memories came back?"

"That's what you'd assume; that I was getting it back in bits and pieces, right?" Revan scoffed. "That it was making a slow, and therefore, _easier_ return, but it wasn't. It wasn't in bits and pieces and it wasn't easy. It was like…a purging. As though this well of unknown sensations and emotions and visions were just hauled out of me, until the well was dry."

Revan's eyes grew dark and distant, her thoughts clearly on that time, while Dane's own went back to the Secret Academy, to Atton's words, spoken to her in the darkened hallway. _"I held off for as long as I could," _he'd told her,_ "but they dug in deep and pulled it out, all of it…my sister, the war, the Jedi I killed…They gutted me, babe, and now there's nothing left inside."_

_No, _Dane told herselfThe 'they' of Atton's experience was Darth Tertius, Dane knew, and her blood ran cold. _But I'd feel it if he were here. I'd have to; Tertius is so ripe with the dark side unless… powerful barriers were erected to keep others from sensing…_

Dane glanced quickly at Revan, but the ex-Sith Lord watched her cigarra burn, her eyes filled with the memories so recently acquired.

"When did they come back?" Dane asked, her own voice sounding as dry and rasping as Revan's.

"I told you," the ex-Sith Lord said. "Three days ago…all at once. Like a purge," she murmured, almost to herself.

_Three days,_ Dane thought. _Her memories returned three days ago…I was on Telos and Darth Tertius was en route…here._

Dane closed her eyes, briefly, as the first wave of despair washed over her, then she immediately walled it up. Every bit of discipline she had, every iota of will, she called to the fore and used to barricade her realization away from Revan. _So be it, _Dane thought, _I can play pretend too. _She sat up straight in her chair, affected a placid, sympathetic expression, and called to mind the first rule of warfare: Never let the enemy know what you know.

Revan settled back in her chair and there was a silence between them. Finally, she said, "I'm sorry for bringing it up. It's not fair to you—there's nothing you can do about it, so let's drop it and talk of other things. For instance, whose child are you carrying? It intrigues me, Dane, that I can't glean from you his identity."

Dane nodded and inwardly she quickly assessed the pros and cons of her next maneuver. "His name is Atton Rand," she said after a moment. "He was an assassin during the Jedi Civil war. He was _your _assassin, to be perfectly accurate," Dane added, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping her voice. "He went by the name of Jaq Rand then."

Revan regarded Dane with her diamond-sharp eyes and rested her narrow chin in her hand. Finally she said, "I remember him."

"You do?" Dane asked, and her thoughts went, unbidden, to Jude Gracus.

"No, no, nothing like that," Revan said. "I remember seeing his photo in a dossier and I inflamed Malak's jealousy—quite the simple task, I assure you—by commenting on Mr. Rand's physical attributes." Her eyes glittered as she looked at Dane. "Yes, I remember Jaq," she said. "Only from reports," she added. "I don't recall ever meeting him face-to-face, but the datafiles on him were impressive."

"Impressive?"

"For a Sith Lord, yes," Revan said quickly. "For a manufactured personality who only too recently remembers being a Sith Lord?" She shrugged. "It means very little. Another brick in the wall of past misdeeds, another corrupted soul I can put a name to. But he is redeemed now, yes? Else he would not be with the likes of you."

"More or less. The events of the past weeks were too long and too much to relay." Dane waited for the feel of Revan's Force probe to uncover those events herself, but it did not come.

"And where is Jaq now?" Revan asked.

"Telos," Dane replied. "He was badly injured recently, fighting a new Sith Lord. Which is why I'm here."

"Yes, let's talk about why you are here," Revan said, reaching for another cigarra and lighting it with the Force. "My apologies, Dane, but some habits die hard. Now, tell me why you sought me out and start at the beginning."

Why, indeed? Dane mused, thinking quickly. Her need for Revan's help in eradicating her wound was now a moot one. But perhaps I can glean her plans before this confrontation truly begins.

"Kreia—Darth Traya—told me that I needed to seek you out," Dane replied. "That you are fighting a war against the true Sith, perhaps the only real war against them, and that I was to join you. And I was to take no one with me that I loved."

"I see," Revan said. "Well, that's a start, anyway, but far from the whole picture, I'm sure. After all, you've got that wound hovering over you and I've no misconceptions that you're willing to leave here with it intact. Correct?"

"I don't know that it is as simple as that, but I figured if anyone could help me with it, it would be you," Dane said slowly, as if by rote.

"Maybe. Do you know what your wound is, Dane? Have you ever examined it, really and truly?"

"I know it well enough. I know it as the place where the Force touches me and grows black for the lives I destroyed. I know that giving life back to the Force, with my child, by healing others, is a way of filling that void that I carry. There is a hole in my soul that can only be mended when I give back what I have taken."

"Fair enough. But repairing the wound is not what my old master had in mind when she sent you to me, was it?"

Dane shook her head. "I doubt it. But she must have known I would not destroy the Force with it. Why then, did she send me to you? I don't know."

"I do."

_Finally, _Dane thought. _Answers. _

Revan sat up in her chair like a bird puffing its feathers. "Your wound," she began, "in the wrong hands, is a tool that can be used to harm the Force and all those who wield it. It can kill the Force, as we've established, but Kreia was a fool to want that."

"Fool or not, I wouldn't know," Dane cut in. "I traveled with her for nearly seven months and I know as little about her now as I did at the beginning, on Peragus. Half-answers and more mystery were all I ever gleaned from her. Perhaps that is why her one clear edict—that I seek you out—resonated so strongly."

"Perhaps." Revan stubbed out her cigarra and turned to face Dane, crossing her arms over her desk and leaning forward. "You feel as though you traversed the galaxy, fought and killed three powerful Sith Lords, destroyed Malachor V and for what? For what purpose? I suspect that the death of a few Sith Lords was not a satisfactory answer to the many questions posed on your quest. Am I correct?"

"I want a resolution," Dane replied. "I want answers to all of my questions." _Tell me, Revan, so that I know what I face. _

One corner of Revan's mouth turned up in a crooked smile. "Well, you're in luck—in a manner of speaking. I can help you answer those questions but whether you'll feel lucky or glad that I did, is another matter entirely.

"Let me tell you first about Kreia," Revan began. "My old master was a contradiction of a Jedi. She had tremendous power, intelligence, and potential, but, because of her insecurities, it was never enough. Her pride was such that she could not abide being seen as weak, or frail, or—Force forbid—_mediocre_. Her failures, however small they were, loomed large in her eyes, and her fixation on them was her weakness. Her students, Jedi and Sith alike preyed on her and she became as weak and frail and as mediocre as she had feared to be. Her pride was wounded, her dignity shattered, her padawans all in revolt—including me. I think she saw, in you, a way to kill what she viewed as the source of her shame. The Force. Us."

"How do you know all this?"

Revan shrugged and smiled. "I have my methods. Spies, mostly. The Force, when it comes to the more personal aspects. If you've wondered why I haven't pick your brain for your story, the answer is, I didn't have to."

"I should have expected nothing less," Dane replied.

"Smart girl." Revan smirked. "To return to the tale of Kreia: She fell long and fast to the dark side, where she fared far worse than she had as a Jedi. The Jedi, at least, did not openly attack her. Their own prowess—_my _own prowess—was enough to inflame her raving insecurities. As a Sith, the dark Jedi around her smelled that weakness like a firaxa smells blood and preyed on it as the Sith are wont to do. Kreia's solution, then, was to destroy the weapon that others had used against her to great effect. If the Force were dead, then those who had hurt her would never again be able to claim dominance or power over her. She would no longer be weak. But because of this focus on herself, she could not see the larger picture."

"Darth Tertius," Dane said.

"Yes," Revan agreed. "And the Count who created him. Her ignorance and blindness to the other Sith who were working their own plots and plans, her single-mindedness in her revenge against Nihilus and Sion, kept her from seeing the flaws in her own. Quite symbolic, I think, that she lost her physical sight in the process. But aside from revenge, Kreia could not see how your wound could be used to so much more effect than the destruction of the Force."

_Now we are getting closer. _But Revan's words brought a pang of fear, one large enough for the Jedi Master to detect—even now the other woman was peering at her strangely—and Dane quickly realized her Force shields and barriers were not going to be enough. She buried that fear that was blooming inside her by calling upon the memory of her last encounter with Revan on the _Firestar._

"Forgive me, Revan," she said, "I just can't help but think that I would not have a wound to be used for any purpose, if you hadn't given me the order."

Revan narrowed her eyes and Dane felt the cold sweep of the ex-Sith Lord's Force pass over her. Apparently satisfied with Dane's reply, her rigid stance eased and she shrugged.

"I see. You're angry with me because I gave you the order to activate the mass shadow generator." Revan inhaled deeply on her cigarra. "Like I told you then, I would have done it myself…had I known."

Dane took a breath and forced her voice to remain steady. "You had the taint of the dark side on you then," she said. _And now…? _The thought escaped her before she could bury it, but Revan didn't seem to care.

The ex-Sith Lord waved her hand dismissively. "Then, as now, I see things from all angles and perspectives—even those that are less popular than others. But honestly, I didn't know what the mass shadow generator was going to do. I'm speaking now with regards to the Force. Oh, I knew it would decimate the Mandalorians, but the effect that it had on the Force, on _you—_no one could have predicted. How ironic," she said slowly, "that its activation fell to you—the beacon of benevolent power and light. How ironic that it would be _you_ who would end up possessing the greatest weapon of evil."

"What do you mean?" Dane asked quietly. _Tell me, Revan. Tell me everything. _

"Along your quest, did you not find that your actions influenced others? That the decisions you made effected the rest of your crew?"

Dane nodded, affecting a dim expression. "As a captain would over her crew. As a general would…"

"No, no, no," Revan said, suddenly leaning over the table and jabbing her cigarra-holding hand in the air for emphasis. "Think big! Think _impact_! That's the problem with you—you never use what you have. All the time you served under me, you never used your strengths or played to your power, not like you could have. Think, Dane. Who was among your crew? A bounty hunter who was assigned to kill you, two Sith, an archenemy Mandalorian, and an ex-Jedi killer," Revan said, ticking them off with her fingers. "And what happened? Were you overrun with enemies? Did you have a mutiny? No. Instead, the bounty hunter has given up the hunt and is now a Jedi; the Mandalorian fought side-by-side with you; and of the two Sith, one is now_ head of the Jedi Council_—if my information is correct—and the assassin is the _father of your child_." Revan arched an eyebrow, her voice sharp with sarcasm. "And you think that's because of your leadership abilities?"

Dane straightened in her chair. "Partly so, yes."

Revan smiled then. "Ah, yes, you always were a stubborn one. Doggedly persistent, just as I recall. Fine," she leaned back in her chair, "I'll agree, you were a general among generals—though I can't fathom how you pulled off your victories being as dense as you are."

Dane ignored the jibe. "The wound then?" she asked. "That is the source of this influence?"

Revan nodded, her smile slipping off her face. "The Force is the source of it, and the wound is a part of the Force."

"How do you know this?" Dane demanded.

Revan shrugged. "I can see it in you. That has always been my greatest gift. To see into the hearts and minds of others and bend them to my will. Like I said, the Force just makes that task ten thousand times easier."

"Then I ask you again, is wound is the source of my influence?"

"It is the Force still, no matter how damaged it is. It's a channel that was opened up in you. Through it, you influence others with the Force, and with your own benevolent energy."

"How is that a weapon?"

"Because, Dane, if you were to fall to the dark side, then you could use your wound to turn every other Force-adept with you. You could have an army of Sith the likes of which as never been seen. You could bend to your will even the strongest of pure-hearted Jedi."

"I would never turn, not to kill the Force, not to turn others. Surely Kreia must have known that." _Surely _you _must know that._

Revan did not reply to Dane's unspoken thoughts, but her eyes were wide and fervent, and when she spoke, her words flowed faster and faster, as though she were rushing closer and closer to letting loose some secret she had been struggling to hold in but was now ready to reveal. Dane held on, kept her fear and anticipation in check. _Let her think me a fool a little longer. She can't wait to tell me her plans—she's bursting with them. _

"Kreia knew nothing," Revan continued. "She could see only the smallest shreds of the future. She sent you to me to fulfill that vision of the future with only the slimmest of hopes that you would do as she wanted and kill the Force. And to kill the Force, you'd have to first kill me—me who is the heart of the Force. But she should have known I would never let you do such a thing…not even if I had fallen again."

The words hung in the air as thick as the smoke from Revan's cigarra, and Dane could feel the anticipation coming off the other woman in waves—she could almost hear her chant, _Ask the question, ask the question. _But Dane forced herself to remain calm when every nerve in her body tingled and her hand itched to call her lightsaber.

_It is time, _Dane thought. _Time to stop pretending and begin…_

"Kreia was not so blind as that," Dane said, quietly. "She sent me into Korriban, alone, and at every turn I was confronted by memories of decisions I had made. I had then, the opportunity to undo them, to be selfish, to send my troops over minefields instead of helping them myself. Pools of black energy were everywhere, tempting me to bathe in them. And you. I saw you as the Dark Lord of the Sith, and I was your dark Jedi apprentice, and that future beckoned but faded with my absolute denial of it. And so she sent shades of my own crew after me, to kill me if I defended her, to show me the price of my compassion—murder my crew to save the old woman. All of it, Kreia's attempt to turn me. I see that now, but she failed. And so she sent me to you and told me I must go alone. Not to spare my friends and loved-ones death, but to deprive me of support and love so that when the darkness came, I would have no one standing beside me as I faced you."

Revan nodded, a slow smile spreading over her face. "Correct."

Dane slowly stood and ignited her lightsaber. "And now, I have no one beside me."

Revan's hand went to her own. She did not take it in hand, but even only the promise of the mighty Revan about to draw her lightsaber on her was enough to make Dane's throat go dry.

"When did you know?" Revan asked, her smile wicked.

"Does it matter?"

Revan laughed in her gravelly voice. "It was the three days that gave it away, wasn't it? The return of my memories? Well, well, well, you're more clever than I gave you credit for."

"You want to know how I won my battles for you, Revan?" Dane asked quietly. "It was by drawing the enemy out and learning their secrets and plans. Ironic, isn't it, that my tactics while serving you are no different than my tactics when facing you."

Revan snorted. "Yes, yes, you're very smart. Now shut up, unless you don't want to hear how this little tale is going to end."

"You will tell me how you think it will end," Dane replied. "You can't help yourself. Always, your greatest weakness was your arrogance, your ego."

An expression of rage flitted over Revan's face, gone as quickly as it had come, and she smiled a crooked smile. "Yes, Dane, but isn't it obvious I've earned it?"

"Then tell me, Revan."

Revan's smile faded and her fiery eyes became as cold as ice. "Kreia was a fool to think, despite your escapades on Korriban, that you would ever turn. And the Count wanted you dead and sent Darth Tertius to do it. But Darth Tertius found me instead, and showed me all that I had forgotten—all that I had given up. He told me you still lived and how he and I, together, would kill you. But I see the Force, and I saw your wound, and, as is my wont…I had an idea."

"Whatever game you're playing, I will not be your pawn, Revan," Dane said, gripping her lightsaber tightly. "Not ever again."

"Oh, but you will," Revan replied, and Dane flinched as the woman's dark blue eyes flashed yellow. "I want what you have, Dane. I want to bend the will of every living Force-adept swiftly and surely to my own, and rebuild my army of Sith. But I can't do it nearly so quickly without you. If you joined us and turned to the dark side, you could channel your energy through your wound, send it to the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy, and, through you, they would fall. Every last one of them. But I know you won't give in without a struggle. Not you, Dane. Therefore, Darth Tertius will do it for you."

Revan laughed a chilling, mirthless laugh as Dane's eyes widened and scanned the dim chamber at the mention of the Sith Lord. "You will be my Star Forge," Revan continued and laughed again at the notion. "Only instead of ships and fighters and weapons, you shall make me my Sith. Ironic, don't you think, that we come so far, only to end up exactly where we started."

"No," Dane said, taking a step backward. "This is not how it will end."

"You lack imagination, Dane," Revan said with a sigh. "Don't think of it as an end, but as a beginning. Of course, if you resist, it _will_ be an end—yours. Of that, I assure you."

Dane flinched at Revan's utterly compassionless tone, and suddenly had an idea of how terrible she must have been as a Sith Lord. _And she will be again. For all her wondrous power, in the end, her arrogance and pride will be her undoing…she is weak…_

"Weak?" Revan thundered, and the hologlobe of Rattatak went soaring at Dane's head. The Exile dodged and readied for attack, but again, Revan's rage fled as quickly as it had come. "Weak," she muttered with a snort. "I could make your heart implode in your chest without lifting a finger. I could turn your blood to ice in your veins, or break every bone in your body, one by one—crush them to powder—until there was nothing left of you but your flesh and noble intentions. So please don't speak to me of weak and strong. For all that you are, Dane, and all that you have accomplished, you still live only because _I am allowing you to._"

Dane tried not to let her fear show, but suddenly the holovids and datafiles and accounts from Revan's victims she had heard during her exile came to mind. Revan, Dark Lord of the Sith, had returned and Dane, even in her fear, could not help but be awed.

"Yes," Revan hissed, "that is more like it. That is, as I remember. Your fear for me is a start, Dane, but I will not be satisfied until you bow to me."

"Never," Dane whispered, taking a step backward.

"I'm afraid you have to," Revan replied. The air shifted and then suddenly she was on the other side of her desk, stepping toward the Exile. "You see, your influence being what it is, I can't have you undoing my work. Unless you fall as well, that influence will slowly undo what I intend to achieve. Therefore, you, Dane, will either succumb and serve me as my apprentice as the energies on Korriban foresaw, or you, and your unborn child, will die."

Dane blanched with fear and took another step back. "I will not fall and Darth Tertius cannot use me to turn others if I, myself, have not turned."

"Unfortunately for you, that's simply not true," Revan said. "Your alignment is not entirely relevant. Darth Tertius, I have learned, has a singular gift that is quite unique amongst any Force-adept. He can turn even the staunchest of Jedi to our cause. But as it is rather unpractical for me to parade your friends before him for reprogramming, Darth Tertius will use your wound to do it in one fell swoop. Clever, eh?"

"So sure are you that he will obey you? Without question?" Dane asked, grasping at the thin wisp of hope that Tertius would never allow his dominance to be usurped, but Revan only smiled.

"Of course, he follows me," she replied. "How could he not? But if you don't believe me," she added, "ask him yourself."

Dane sensed the terrible stench of dark side power that was nearing and growing stronger by the moment. A door, hidden among the cracks and fissures of the rock wall, slid open. Dane saw the twin lightsabers glowing red before the figures of Darth Tertius stepped into the meager light of Revan's chambers.

"Choose, Dane," Revan intoned. "Join me or die."

Dane could only shake her head mutely and continue to back away. _Not all three! Not Revan and Tertius too! I can't…I can't…_

"I've always been especially good at time-management," Revan drawled, "so while you are pondering your options, Darth Tertius will begin the reconstruction of my army."

Dane watched, fixated, as the twin spectres of Darth Tertius raised pale hands and, in perfect unison, lowered their black cowls.

From far away Dane heard herself suck in a breath. She only managed to hold on to her lightsaber because every muscle in her body clenched as a pair of blood red eyes bored into hers. Dark side power, unlike anything she had ever felt before, washed over her and seeped into her skin, her bones, her blood, until she felt poisoned by it. She fell to one knee, as visions terrible beyond her imagination assaulted her. With every last bit of strength and will she had, Dane managed to tear her eyes away from Darth Tertius, and without pause or hesitation, she turned and ran from the chamber.

"Let her go," Revan ordered Darth Tertius. "You can reach her still, yes?"

"Yes," Darth Tertius replied.

"_The bond was made," _agreed the one-armed replica.

Revan smiled. "Then carry on. There is no way out; there is no where for her to go."

* * *

Dane stumbled out of Revan's chamber and nearly collided with HK-47 who had stood at attention when the door slid open.

"Hopeful Query: Time to fight?"

"Yes," Dane gasped. "Open fire," she ordered, motioning into the chamber, before continuing her flight. She could feel Darth Tertius's energy reaching for her like oily black fingers. She gasped again as she felt those fingers close tighter around her, infecting her body with their malevolent energies.

Dane moaned as she stumbled down the twisting tunnel Mira had guided her down before. But Dane found no central cave filled with those who might help her. Instead, the tunnel opened into an immense cavern, dark and dank and empty of sentient life. It was lit only by the dim glow of small clusters of crystals that grew at the base of stalagmites, and Dane stumbled into it, half-blind and sickened by Darth Tertius' _singular gift_…

The Dark Lord of the Sith followed behind, unimpeded by the Hunter-Killer droid that had tried to stop him. At a glance from Revan, HK-47 shuddered and went still, his carbine silent in his grasp. Through the Force, Darth Tertius watched her silvery energy run between the black cavern pillars, seeking shelter or escape, but he pierced through that silvery mist, and into the heart of the Exile. Every moment of her life became open to him and twin smiles appeared on his faces as he insinuated his energies into those moments, turning them into something else entirely…

**Telos, Secret Academy, Polar Regions…**

_**"**Goodbye, Jaq," Dane said, her voice low and steady in her own ears. "You can come with me, you know," she said. "Like before, only this time there is no going back."_

_"No, I can't," Atton said, looking up at her, his gray-green eyes pleading. He held up his hand in a feeble warding gesture as her lightsaber hummed in his ear. "Wait, please. Dane, wait. Do me a favor, will you?" he asked. _

_"I'm listening." _

_"Don't tell the kid about me. Please. I don't want her to know I failed; that I was weak. That I couldn't help you… Please, just don't tell her who I was."_

_"Don't worry," Dane said, her vision flashing yellow for a moment. "I wouldn't waste the energy."_

_She swung the blade and then stepped aside as his head tumbled towards her._

A ragged scream tore out of Dane as she stumbled, half-blind, through the dim and murky cavern. Stalagmites and stalactites loomed in the darkness, like the giant teeth of some giant rancor beast. She sloshed through puddles of brackish water, her lightsaber the only source of light. But no matter how far she ran or how she hid herself in the shadows, the blackened fingers of Darth Tertius's Force gripped her, and his voice still found her.

"Yes, that was how you finally rid yourself of that lecherous pilot," the Sith Lord said, his voice sounding as though he were right behind her.

_Not behind me, he's in my head! _Dane thought and tried not to panic. She continued through the cavern, desperate for an escape, but there was only that voice…and those eyes. The image of those blood-red eyes was before her at every turn, forcing her mind to go where it did not want to go.

"_You did well to end his pathetic life. After he betrayed you with Jude, he deserved no less."_

Dane shook her head. "It's not true. It didn't happen that way. I wouldn't kill him."

"And what of that arrogant old Jedi?" Darth Tertius mused.

"_He always thought he was wiser than you, knew better than you, was smarter than you."_

"But in the end, he was nothing but a weak old man, wasn't he?"

_"Wasn't he?"_

_>>>_

**Manaan**

"_Well, this is it, natural-like," Jolee said and dumped the green mass of kolto into her hands. He peered at her with his dark eyes. "What do you feel?"_

Dane held the kolto for a moment, feeling the rubbery vines against her fingers. She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at Jolee's expectant look. "It feels," she said, after a moment, "alive. So what?"

_Jolee smiled briefly. "Aye, it is, though I hauled that bunch out of the sea more than a week ago. Anything else?"_

_Dane sighed. "No. Should I?"_

"_Nope, not yet." _

_Before Dane knew what was happening, a small knife appeared in the old Jedi's hands. Dane flinched and went to withdraw her hand, but the old guy was quick. He sliced one of the fat, rounded leaves open. A bluish-green liquid spilled out over her hand and she felt a raw tingling sensation wherever it touched her skin. Jolee was watching her, a skrag-eating grin on his face._ He's enjoying this lesson a little too much. I'm no fool…

"It's unrefined," Jolee said. "The Selkath alone know how to purify it and distill it and all that rot. But that doesn't interest me. Leave that to them, I say, for they got the tech on it, and it's not what I'm here for anyway." Jolee reached into the plasteel container that held the fish and drew one out, squeezing it tight as it writhed in his hand. "I hope you don't mind a bit of cruelty to animals if it's for a worthy cause," he said and sliced the fish's skin with his little knife. He set the fish on the ground where it struggled and bled, its gills flapping open and closed in a pathetic attempt to breathe.

_"Drip some of the kolto's blood onto the fish," Jolee instructed._

_Dane watched as the fish gasped mutely for air. The old man frowned._

_"Give it the kolto," he urged. "It's going to die."_

_"Perhaps," Dane said. "But it'll be in good company."_

_With a flick of her wrist, she called Jolee's knife to her hand, flipped it deftly to grip its handle, and swiped it across his throat. The grimace of shock and pain on his face was a satisfactory replacement for the smug expression of arrogance he had been wearing during their little lesson. He died with that expression frozen onto his face. Dane shook her head and shrugged._

_"Sorry, teacher, you've lost your student," she told his corpse. The gasping fish between them caught her eye. "What are you looking at?" she snapped and brought her fist down…_

"Never, never, never," Dane moaned, stumbling against a stalagmite. "I never did that," she cried, and tried to banish the image of Jolee's face—or was it a memory?—from her mind.

"Ah, but you did."

_"And well done, too."_

"So shall perish any who pretend they can teach _you_ anything."

Dane held one hand to her ear, to block out the sound, but the voice came from all around her, and from inside her too. She dragged herself from the stalagmite and continued her quest for a doorway or passage out of the cavern, holding her lightsaber before her like a torch.

"No one could best you," Darth Tertius said smoothly.

"_There was never any who could overpower you."_

"You simply made them your ally…"

"…_or your servant…"_

"…or you killed them."

>>>

**The _Affliction,_ in orbit over Nar Shaddaa**… 

_Dane and Macen were each given a weapon and then left alone in the Ring._

_There was a moment of silence as Raff leaned back in his chair, a wild, manic look in his eye, and then he said in a low, whispery voice, "Begin."_

"I'm not going to fight you," Macen said instantly, though Dane noticed he did not drop his blade.

_"It'd be a shame to kill a fighter such as yourself," Dane replied. "Such a waste."_

_"How bloody touching," Raff put in. "I forgot to mention that if you saps are going to try to pull that shite on me, you'll both be killed_ right here and now so GET GOING!"

A slow smile spread over Dane's face and she shrugged. "You heard the man," she said and lifted her blade. She made as though she were testing its weight in her hand, casually hefting it once or twice before suddenly attacking. Lightning quick, she lunged forward and jabbed the tip of the vibroblade into Macen's side. He swept his own blade down to block but Dane's betrayal took him by surprise. Her sword bit deep, spilling his blood over the arena floor as the fight began in earnest. He might have been able to overpower her but the wound cost him, and Macen was dead within minutes.

_"Aye, you're bloody good, peach," Raff crooned. "Come here and let me take a taste of ye."_

_Dane let the vibroblade fall from her hand and sauntered to where Raff sat. His kiss was of whiskey and stale cigarras but she felt it all the way down in her belly. The fact that Macen lay dead at her feet, slain at her hand no more than a minute before, inflamed her all the more…_

_>>>_

**Manaan…**

_…She pulled away from their kiss, her breath coming hard. "What about Atton?" she asked. _

_"What about him?" Macen scoffed, reaching for her again. _

_"Get rid of him."_

_He pulled away and looked at her. "You want me to kill him?" Macen asked. "Dane, I…"_

_His protest turned into a low moan as she maneuvered her hand below his belt. She kissed him long and slow and smiled, knowing then that he'd do anything she asked him to, so long as she didn't stop. _

_"Well, you don't have to kill him," she purred, "if you don't mind sharing me with him."_

_"Never!" Macen growled, kissing her fiercely. "Never…"_

_>>>_

**Korriban…**

_"…Never again can we go back," Revan said, her voice weary but infused with a new power. Dane could feel it emanating off of the woman in waves and her only thought was that she wanted it too. _The Council can't offer me this,_ she thought. _And to think, I nearly went back…

_"We're on the threshold of a new era," Revan continued, that voice carrying over the Jedi gathered before her. "The old ways have failed us. Betrayed us. The Council was impotent and_ _weak where those who chose to fight were effective and strong. How can we return to an institution that is so misguided; one that would have deliberated until the Mandalorians were breaking down their Temple doors? The answer, my friends, is that we cannot. We would be betraying ourselves to take such a step backward. We would be denying the power inherent in each of us! _

_"A new Council will be forged of the old. A new Code is waiting, one that acknowledges our gifts, one that says that it is right and true to have passion for this life! _

"_Join me, and you will never again feel the restraining bonds of indecision and hesitation. Join me and you will, as you have so bravely done on these battlefields of stars, be given free rein to use your powers and talents. Join me, and you have a voice. Or go back, and be mute once again._

"_I ask you now, do you have a voice, Jedi? Do you have a voice?"_

_"Revan, forever!" the chant went up. "Revan, forever!"_

Dane raised her weapon in tribute and added her voice to the tumult that grew louder and louder with each refrain.

_"Revan, forever! Forever!"_

_>>>_

**The _Ebon Hawk…_**

_:Forever: Hanhaar said, kneeling before her. :That is the length of my life-debt to you.:_

_Dane nodded. "And this?" she asked, gesturing to the sack at his feet. She watched as a dark stain spread over the rough fabric from the contents within._

:A token of my loyalty: Hanhaar replied, and opened the sack wide enough for Dane to see a shock of flame-red hair and a delicate hand, its fingernails tipped in red lacquer.

Dane smiled. "Accepted."

>>>

The visions were coalescing now, blending together into one terrible assault of images and bloodstained sensations, and Dane watched, helpless, as every benign decision she had ever made in her life turned malignant. She felt the hate churn in her, felt her blood turn sour with it as Darth Tertius channeled his Force through her. She fought, telling herself that what she was experiencing was not real…but she was losing. She fell to her knees, her lightsaber clattering to the rough-hewn ground and rolling out of reach, hissing all the while. Dane pressed her hands to her head as if she could keep the memories out.

_No, not memories…they're not my memories, _she thought, desperately attempting to hold on to her reason, but the horrible reality was, it didn't matter. Darth Tertius was using her to channel his dark side energy. She felt it course through her veins, in her blood, tainting her, trying to turn her, but she was not the final target.

Like a swarm of locusts, fiery hot and sharp, Tertius's energy passed out of her blood, her flesh, and dug deep into her wound. The void she had carried for so long, the place where the Force blackened around her, drank in the energies and grew swollen with them. Dane, on her hands and knees now, dug her fingers into the gritty dirt of the cavern floor. She hadn't the breath to scream, though she had never felt the need so terribly before. And then, when she thought she couldn't take one more second, Darth Tertius changed the intention of his energies and began to channel his corruption of the Force through Dane, through the wound, and out. Dane could almost imagine ribbons of Force energy extending from the heart of her, out into the galaxy where Darth Tertius's tainted flows would touch the meager few Jedi who remained.

"No…"Dane moaned. "Please…"

"Don't fight it, Dane," said a voice, this one real and coming from the woman standing three paces from where Dane crouched. "It is so much easier…so much more_ gratifying_ if you just let go."

"No," Dane protested weakly. She tried to move, to fight, to staunch the terrible flow of energy that poured out of her like a bleeding wound. But she was trapped where she knelt, and could do nothing but listen to Revan's laughter and feel the few Jedi left in the galaxy begin to turn.

* * *

"Open the seals, Captain!" cried one soldier.

"Commander Revan is in danger," said another. "Let us through to help her."

Captain Erdo Tavvar, standing with the half-dozen other Jedi who inhabited Rattatak barred the entrance to the tunnel that led to Revan's chambers. Two had drawn their lightsabers and used them to hold the soldiers at bay. Erdo merely stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Brus Missil, a perplexed grimace on his face, stepped forward.

"Stand aside, friend," he said in his deep baritone. "The enemy is here. Time to fight."

"You're right about that," Erdo said, and made a swift motion with his hand. Brus was sent flying backwards to crash heavily amongst the soldiers and mercenaries that filled the main cavern. Blasters were drawn and, beside Erdo, more lightsabers were too.

"Captain, what are you doing?" asked one soldier plaintively. "Commander Revan needs us."

"Lord Revan has no need for one as weak as you," Erdo replied. "None of you," he added, and drew his own lightsaber…

>>>

**En route to Brisia…**

Mira lay on her bunk, feeling the engines of the transport hum beneath her. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. It was her version of meditation—her method of clearing her mind for her mission. It was a dangerous one: to infiltrate the Sith base on Brisia, ascertain troop numbers, and get a preliminary report of the strengths and perceived weaknesses of the enemy. The final assault on Brisia, and the Count who commanded the base, depended on the accuracy of her assessment. _I've had more dangerous jobs, _she told herself. _Just not lately…_Mira let her hand fall to the state-of-the-art stealth generator at her waist for reassurance.

The lights in the transport flickered for a moment and then went off completely, and Mira was alone in the dark for a few moments. The air shifted, as though the pressure in the transport had changed, and grew colder.

_A difficult mission, _Mira mused, _and will probably get me killed. _Her expression darkened. _Why have I been chosen to do it? What, do I have 'Sith fodder' written on my forehead? _Mira's hand fell away from the stealth generator and a smile smoothed away the angry expression. _Maybe I can turn this mission into something more profitable and less hazardous to my health. Force knows, I've got information the Count might like to have a look at. _

Mira's smile widened and she tucked her hands under her head as the lights flickered back on.

"Well, this job just got a lot more interesting."

>>>

**Sith stronghold, Brisia…**

Lirik reeled as a blow to his cheek snapped his head to the side. Another followed, this one to the other side of his face, where the gash Jude had given him poured blood liberally down his face. _At least he's being thorough, _Lirik thought of his torturer. He was stripped to the waist and held in the firm grip of the two Sith soldiers who had hauled him out of the commcenter. His torturer was the beefy dark Jedi who claimed Urias Konn as a friend. But that fact meant very little to Lirik just then. The scope of his life was slowly growing more and more narrow, telescoping right before his very eyes into only one thing—pain.

They had divested him of his robes so that the wounds that crossed his body were easier to access. When the dark Jedi—whom Lirik had privately dubbed 'Todd', for reasons unknown even to himself—when Todd wasn't pummeling him in what Lirik thought was a rather uncivilized manner, the Count was channeling his Force into the bloody blaster holes. After ten minutes, Lirik wondered if it were possible to use the Force to kill himself, to end the agony. But every time he mustered the strength for any kind of attack, the Count's words came again and so did the pain.

_Fuck them, _Lirik thought viciously, even as he heard himself whimper weakly. _They may kill me, but someone will get them in the end. Revan or that exile…someone._

But the blows, the shocks, and the burning continued, and no one was coming to stop the Sith. To Lirik's tired and ravaged mind, the fact of the matter was, it simply wasn't fair. _I'll rot in this hole while the Count and the Sith continue on and everything I've done will have been for nothing. Nothing. Me. Lirik Thrakill, in the end, was nothing._

Anger began to burn in him, and it lent him strength. _Stupid old man. Where is he when I need him? When I need help? Bloody fucking useless old bastard. Lanik would have helped me..._And then the air around him shivered and grew cold. Lirik imagined his twin's disapproving glare, his disgust at his brother's weakness, and Lirik realized his brother would not help him at all. _Not unless I prove myself worthy. _Todd delivered another punishing jab into Lirik's midsection and the visage smiled coldly.

_I'm sorry, brother! _Lirik told the ghost of his twin. _Please don't leave me alone! I'm so sorry! _Todd was clearly enjoying his work, and delivered another series of blows, and suddenly Lirik was again eighteen years old again. It was Lanik who stood over him, a shock stick in his hand. He brought it down on Lirik over and over again, cursing him and declaring that they served the Count now, and if Lirik did not comply, Lanik would kill him himself. _I'll beat the weakness out of you, Lirik, if I have to, but you _will _come with me. You will. _

Lirik nodded feebly. _Yes, brother. I'm coming with you. I promise. _

He lifted his head and peered at the count through swollen eyes.

"Forgive me, lord," he croaked. "Forgive…me…"

The Count smiled under his cowl. "It brought you nothing but pain, didn't it? Your foray into the light?"

Lirik nodded weakly. "Allow me…another chance…please," he said. "Remember my…years…of service, lord. Please…"

The Count pondered for a moment, then said, "I do," he said, and motioned for Todd to step aside. "But you have no more chances, Lirik. You have failed me too many times for me to risk that. So I shall compromise: a swift death and a proper burial, one befitting your rank and station as a Sith."

"Thank you, Lord," Lirik said. _I am not no one…_ he thought. _I die as a Sith. Lanik would be proud…_

_>>>_

**The Jedi Temple, Coruscant…**

Mission Vao was about to ask Dustil if he wanted to go for a walk through the Arboretum, but she snapped her mouth shut. He was still meditating, sitting on the floor near the table where she sat idly flipping pazaak cards. A tiny, impatient sigh escaped her. _He's only been doing that for, like, three hours. You'd think he'd at least get hungry or need to pee or something._

Mission sighed again and flipped another card. On the floor, Dustil's eyes opened. They held a blankness in their brown depths, and while he turned his head to the sound of Mission's cards, his eyes did not follow. Slowly, he got to his feet and felt his way over to the Twi'lek.

"Finally!" Mission shot up out of her chair. "You want to take a walk? Or maybe get some lunch? Or—"

Her words were cut off as Dustil's mouth came down on her own. His arms bound her to him, and she gasped in surprise.

"Dustil…um, okay…" she muttered around his kisses. It had been awhile since he had paid her this kind of attention, and she returned his kiss—or tried to. His lips were crushed to hers, cutting her, and he thrust his tongue deep into her mouth. She opened her eyes and a squeal escaped her as she saw that Dustil was kissing her with his own eyes open.

"Ewww!" she shrieked, shoving him away with all her strength. He stumbled, off balance, but only for a moment. "Dustil, what's wrong with you?" Mission cried, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth.

"Now, don't be like that, Mish," Dustil soothed. "It's just that we've been together for so long and we haven't even…you know, _done it."_ His charming smile touched his lips, but there was something dark and sinister in his blank eyes. Mission backed away.

"We haven't…_done it_," the Twi'lek stammered, "because _you _said we have to wait to see what the Council will say about Jedi taking partners. _You_ said you didn't want to commit yourself to me fully until you knew that we could stay together." Mission felt tears sting her eyes. "_You've_ kept me waiting, not even sure if, in the end, you'll stay with me. You put that Council first, always. And now you just want to jump in the sack with me?" Mission wiped her eyes and planted her hands on her hips. "I don't think so, pal."

Dustil's face contorted with rage and then smoothed again in the space of half a second, and Mission took another step away from him.

"You're right," he said, and the table that stood between them began to shudder. "I've put the Council first above all else, including you. I was a fool to do that, but not anymore. Come here, Mish, and I'll show you just how much you mean to me."

The table was swept aside as though a strong wind had taken it, and Dustil came at her again.

"What's happening to you?" Mission cried, trying to run. Though blind, Dustil tracked her unerringly. Lightning quick, he snatched her wrist and hauled her to him.

"Ow! You're hurting me!" Mission cried, trying to twist out of his grip. "Why are you doing this?"

"Shut up!" he snarled, and brought the back of his free hand against her cheek.

Mission's head snapped and then she began to cry in earnest. "Bastard!" she cried, and drove her knee between his legs. Dustil must have anticipated the move because he managed to dodge it—almost. He sucked in a breath as her blow grazed his groin and Mission tore out of his grip.

"That's going to cost you," Dustil wheezed. Mission couldn't believe what she was seeing when his hand reached for his lightsaber.

"What? You're going to kill me?" Mission breathed, as she slowly backed away from him. Her face fell and her voice cracked. "Why?"

Dustil cocked his head to one side. "Hmm, good question. After all, you haven't yet given me what I want." He lunged for her again and Mission shrieked, knocking a chair in his path as she darted for the door.

Dustil swept the chair out of his path, sent it skidding across the room with a wave of his hand. Mission reached for the door, her fingers on the console to open it, and then she felt the blast of energy hit her square in the back. Every muscle in her body went painfully rigid and she could do nothing but blink and breath as Dustil came up behind her. He pressed his body to hers and rested his chin on her shoulder.

"Stupid to try to run," he murmured in her ear. "You may have been a fast little sewer rat on Taris, but I have the Force," he said, one hand gliding over her hip, the other reaching around to unbutton her shirt. "I'll always win, Mission. Always."

>>>

The lightsabers clashed, blue against gold, hissing and spitting as the combatants became locked against one another.

"Fool, boy," the Cathar hissed. "You cannot defeat me. Your powers are a trickle compared to my mighty flood!"

With a cat-like snarl, Juhani thrust the Disciple's lightsaber away, only to cut her own weapon around to the right. Mical defended the blow and sent a wave of Force at the Jedi, knocking her back.

The Disciple's smile didn't touch his eyes. "It would seem a trickle is all it takes to best you."

"Impudent…!" Juhani sputtered before launching herself at Mical with another roar.

Mical's eyes flashed yellow and his smile widened. "I'll show you a thing or two…" he said, pausing to parry the Cathar's flurry, "…that I didn't learn in books…

And then the fight was begun in earnest, both combatants stopping short of nothing but the kill…

>>>

The sound of crashing lightsabers could be heard from her chambers and Visas Marr could see the currents of hatred and anger flowing red and black through the greens and yellows of the Temple energies. A small smile flitted across her face and then was gone again. _Either of them will make an excellent offering…but neither are enough. My crimes require more… so much more. _

Visas knelt in the center of her small, bare chamber, her velvety robes pooling about her like a puddle of dark blood. She rested her hands on her knees and made her mind grow quiet, blocking out the sounds of combat nearby. She stretched out her senses, watching the channels and currents of the Force eddy and swirl around her.

_Where are you, Master? _

She sent the call again and again. For long moments, she searched until at last she saw it: a vapor of black, no thicker than a wisp of smoke, riding the currents around it.

Visas' lips parted in a small gasp, and then she bowed her head.

_Forgive me, Master, for what I have done to you. _

The vapor swayed on the current but became no more powerful or substantial.

Visas nodded. _Yes, Master,_ she said, her hand straying to her belt where her lightsaber was clipped. _I understand. I will lend you my strength. I will offer my spirit to you, so that you may live again. _She unclipped the hilt.

_My life, for yours…_

_>>>_

**Med Facility, TSF Station, Telos…**

Jolee Bindo watched as the med droid adjusted, checked, and generally fiddled with one of the many tubes that protruded from Atton's body. There was one down his throat for breathing, another in his arm for feeding, and half-a-dozen others affixed to the gaping, burnt hole in his midsection. Jolee winced as the med droid gave one of the latter an especially rough tug.

"Well?" he groused. "You going to give me a report or not? Or maybe I should pull some wires out of _your_ guts and see how that does for you."

The med droid, programmed to ignore the threats of patients' frightened loved-ones, turned to Jolee and stated, "Patient stable. Temperature high but manageable; neurowave patterns not indicative of damage; pulmonary—"

"All right, I get it," Jolee grumbled. "He's just the same as he was an hour ago when you were in here poking at him. Thank you very much." He waited until the med droid had trundled out of the room and then said, "For nothing."

Jolee blew out a sigh and settled against the chair he had pulled beside Atton's bed. He watched the rise and fall of the pilot's chest, facilitated by the respirator beside Jolee. He watched as fluids made there way in—or out of—the tubes in his wound, and he listened to the soft, slow beat of Atton's pulse on the same machine.

Jolee marveled that every single one of Atton's tubes or monitors led from his body and into the same elaborate contraption at Jolee's right. His heartbeat, breathing…everything was governed by one device. _Not bad, but I'll still take a good dose of the Force and a patch of kolto every time before someone hooks me up to one of them. _

The air shivered and the room grew darker for a moment, as though a shadow was passing over the sun. A momentary ripple in the Force swept through the room and then was gone again. Jolee narrowed his eyes.

"You've been a lot of trouble lately, haven't you?" he told Atton's unconscious form. "Looks like you're paying for it now, I reckon. How's that trance working for you?" he mused. "I wonder…you never looked like one strong in the Force, but then, looks can be deceiving." Jolee cackled and leaned back in his chair. "You got some Force in you, boy? Enough to keep you going? Why don't we take a look-see, eh? Show me what you got."

And then Jolee reached out and shut off the machine that was keeping Atton alive…

* * *

A/N: Many, many, many thanks to Bald as Malak for wading through this (and more) for me. I am indebted to you for your time and thoughtfulness and honesty.

There is another 20 pages or so written but they need work. I'm way overdue my own posting deadline, so I thought I'd get this part out of the way and concentrate on the rest. That means that the number of chapters remaining has been extended (again) but I felt it was for the best. The next update shouldn't take so long, though, since most of it is already written.

I've been terrible this month in replying to reviewers, but I'll get on it this time and when I post the rest of this chap, I'll do a full one on my LJ. So thanks to you all for you continued support. I am overwhelmed by your generosity and you all make it worthwhile, so thanks.

Trillian


	45. Revan, Part II

_A/N: Yes, I write long chapters, and here's two more. But I've broken them up into what I hope are manageable bits. Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter 45**

**Revan**

**Part II: The Heart of the Force**

**Kreia…**

_Listen…_

_Ahhh, so misunderstood. Such was my lot in life and now, it seems, after my passing as well. Did you hear nothing I told you, child? A pity an old woman's dying, final words should go unheeded, unremembered. _

_Listen and remember… and trust me. Since my timely demise, I have thrown off the trappings of 'Darth Traya.' My eyes are open now. I see the light and dark of all things, and the balance that needs to exist between them._

_Death, I have come to find, has a marvelous way of putting things in perspective. _

_Revan is powerful, yes, but she was never my greatest pupil. The 'Heart of the Force,' they call her. Fools, and I their queen, for it was I who named her. The Force has no heart. It _is_ the heart of life in this universe, pulsing and animating all things, and no mortal man or woman will ever claim dominion over it. How could they? How can one control that which gives them life? _

_You believe you have wounded the Force? Revan _is _a wound in the Force! The lives she has taken number more than you could ever dream—more than you took at Sorroco, Dxun, Eres, Malachor. Malachor. Even then, you acted upon her orders. True, you had a choice, but the Force knows her might and the sway she held, and so forgave you. You think it punished you, but it did not. Revan thinks it is a weapon, which is why she does not kill you now, but uses you. She is trying to add yet another cannon to her grand arsenal. She is wrong. The Force was outraged, in its own way, at the lives taken in her name, and so gave you the means to stop her, to restore the balance, to put an end to her conquest._

_This thing inside of you is a gift. _

_But you could hardly know that, for everyone has always treated it—and you—as something horrible to be shunned and punished and exiled away. _

_Those whose duty it was to guide you—the Council— betrayed you, failed you. They thought it was you who were the threat…you and your wound. You think disobeying a council to go to war is the worst crime to have been committed against the Jedi? A trifle. You were never worthy of their punishment. Kavar knew this. They all did, deep in their hearts, but they could not help themselves. They aimed all their righteous anger and fear, not at the true betrayer—Revan—but at the one person willing to step forward and be held accountable. And in their guilt and shame and fear-- and to make their own failures seem small—they turned on you, made you believe _you_ were the danger, the criminal… the one worthy of exile. _

_Fools, all of them. And I their queen. _

_If I hadn't been blinded by my own thirst for revenge, I would have told you what your wound was. My child, it is your salvation, even as it is your burden. Use it, and you can make things right again._

_How, you ask. You are the General, are you not? Do you not see the battlefield? Do you not understand finally that you are on one side and _she_ is on the other? You should, for it was always that way. You, the shining beacon of hope and light, and she, the consuming darkness of_ _unfettered power, always at opposite ends. She willing to destroy to achiever her goals, and you seeking to put things right again. There was never any wound you didn't try to lay your hands on. There was no dark Jedi you met that you did not try to redeem first…including me. _

_But for Revan, it is not so. War is what she knows best. Revan or Arax, fallen or redeemed, her skill in the Force is bent on conquest and controlling lives. Yours is to heal them. She is the Dark Lord of the Sith and you are _her_ Exile. Opposite ends of the spectrum; opposite ends of the same battlefield._

_You must remember if you are going to end this standoff. And you must. The Force demands it. Revan has stolen too much power and the Force is suffering for it. Isn't it?_

_Remember the words of an old, dying woman. They were not spoken frivolously nor out of delirium, nor were they the senile ramblings of a bitter old Jedi. Remember them, Exile, and find in them your hope. Cast off the trappings of weakness and see your own strength. You don't need the fool, or the old man, or me, or even your own child to give your life meaning. You have a purpose. There is no one standing on that battlefield. No one…but you and Revan._

_I love you. I have always loved you. Remember my words. _

_Remember them, and be free…

* * *

_

**Darth Tertius…**

"We should kill her now," he said, nodding his cowled head at the still form that lay at his feet. With a thought, like flipping a switch in his mind, the principal unit set his enhancement to continue automatically channeling their dark energies into the unconscious Exile, freeing himself to concentrate on Revan. "The others have turned. We have no further need of her," he continued. "It would be wise to—"

"The others are causing trouble," Revan said. She cocked her head, as though listening to something only she could hear. "They'll kill themselves or one another and I won't have a fracking council at all." She looked at the principal unit. "I'll have to pull them here and show her how incredibly foolish it is_ to… defy… me_."

The Sith Lord didn't miss the warning tone in Revan's voice, nor the way in which her cold blue eyes swept over him, but neither frightened him either. He had long since lost the capacity for fear; only power moved him. _And she possesses more than any other Jedi or Sith…Too much power for a human, and tainted too, with human arrogance. _

"There is little cause for keeping the Exile alive," he pursued. "Salvage your council if you will, but end her now. You are bordering dangerously close to _mercy_ to do otherwise." _Perhaps I should do it myself. _He didn't bother to hide his thoughts from Revan and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Feeling rebellious today, are we?" she commented lightly before her tone turned sinister. "Mind your place, Tertius. You may be the apple of the count's rheumy eye, but compared to me, you and your mechanical clone are nothing. 'Little cause for keeping her alive?' Weren't you paying attention? You and she are going to make me my army. That would prove a little more difficult if she were _dead_."

"I can do it alone. I don't need her wound—"

"If that were true," Revan said, "then we'd already have won."

The principal unit ignored her pointed words. "Unwise to keep one so powerful alive," he continued. "Her friends may have fallen with all the speed _you_ did, but—"

"Don't ever hint that you had a hand in my glory!" Revan shrieked. In an instant, she was standing face to face with human Sith Lord. "You may have flashed those red eyes of yours and worked your Force three days ago, but I was the Dark Lord of the Sith while you were still only the Count's lab rat, so do not _ever_ speak to me of that again."

The Sith Lord sighed imperceptibly and picked up his sentence right where he left off. "But I have been channeling for hours, and still she resists. I fail to see what purpose—"

"What purpose?" Revan's eyes flashed. "There is only one purpose—_my_ purpose! I want Dane Koren to bow to me, to serve me as she should have after the war. I want to make her bleed, to break her to my will so that whenever she draws a breath, she will thank me for allowing her to have it. I want the power she possesses, the power I _gave her_ when I ordered the mass shadow generator to be activated. Her ability to influence is mine by rights and so she will use it to my glory, to my _purposes_. I want her to know, absolutely, without question or doubt, that choosing the Council over me was an act of defiance that will not be tolerated. All this I want," Revan seethed, then shrugged and smiled. "Is that so much to ask?"

_She's ripe with petty human grudges too,_ commented the intelligence enhancement.

The principal unit nodded in response; Revan interpreted it otherwise.

"Good," she said, and stepped over the curled body of Dane lying on the cavern ground. "As you were." Her smile turned grotesque. "Fill her with your seed, Tertius, and let's see what kind of Sith will be made of the union."

Revan's footsteps echoed in the cavern as she walked a few meters away to sit down to meditate, her legs crossed and her back brazenly turned to them both.

_What should we do? _the enhancement asked. _She is too powerful to defy and yet…_

_And yet she may kill us all with her arrogance if we are not careful, _the principal unit mused. He could feel her bend and twist the Force, and use it in a way no other Jedi or Sith could ever dream to. _Remember our teachings, _he told his twin. _There is opportunity in the downfall of every Sith Lord. We will watch and wait, and if she fails, we will be certain not to fail with her…_

…_But rise up from the ashes of her legacy…_

Darth Tertius smiled under his cowls and nodded. _And take our rightful place as the only true Sith Lord…_

* * *

**Bao-Dur…**

He traversed the boundless landscape of the Force, traveling light-years in seconds without moving at all. This side of the Force, the side where he had resided since Malachor V's final destruction, knew neither distance nor time. It had no ground nor sky nor horizon, but that which he made himself. He preferred the colorless plains—a tie to his physical life perhaps, that demanded solid ground upon which to trod upon and hard things that he could touch with his hands.

He remembered that he had, in life, enjoyed working with his hands. But the moments of his life were growing dimmer and dimmer. Time and memory as he knew it were growing shallower; it was as if a great, impenetrable wall were behind him, slowing inching forward, squashing his memories as it did, and pushing him ever closer to the brink of nothing. Years were already lost to him and soon he would lose the rest. The wall would continue its course until it had caught up with him and when it touched him, he would lose the physical form he wore and he would join the Force as he was meant to. He was not afraid; he was tired, and he knew that the colorless landscape he had created and the feet he used to walk upon it would soon be gone and he could rest. But not yet.

He had felt the black ichor of a powerful Sith lord poison him through General Koren. It wrapped around his heart and tore from it the hate and anger and grief of Malachor V. All that rage and guilt he had thought he had left behind roared to the fore and this time he did not fight it.

And then came the call from Revan. She was drawing to her the spirits of those the General had touched…but for one.

Revan was angry. Atton remained hidden and it fell to Bao-Dur to find him. The Iridonian obeyed Revan the Sith Lord as he had obeyed, in life, Revan the Admiral. He didn't know Atton's Force signature and in the vast, infinity of his terrain, his task was hopeless…But Bao-Dur knew the distinctive shades of another; she who had come to him before…. _Yes, she's strong enough, _Bao-Dur thought. _And she's been hiding him this whole time. _The Zabrak snorted a laugh and guided himself over his landscape with purpose.

_All this time, protecting her father…_

* * *

**Atton…**

"Where the frack am I?"

There was no answer. Only the dry wind blowing across arid land.

Atton glanced around at the barren surroundings lit by a sourceless light. He ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, I get it. This is nowhere and I'm in the middle."

He snapped his mouth shut. The air was thick and heavy and he didn't like how it swallowed his words. He didn't like that the horizon seemed to go on forever either, with nothing on it to give a hint as to what planet he had managed to land on. _Only I don't remember the landing…or the voyage or the ship or anything else. _He closed his eyes, shutting out the watery light, and cast his mind back.

_Three tall shadows, each with shards of crimson light, towered over him. Fear and the promise of pain radiated off them, and then one brought his saber up and then down again… and all he knew was pain…_

"Oh yeah," Atton muttered, wiping the sweat off his brow with his sleeve, "I remember now. I'm dead."

"Not dead," came a soft, feminine voice from behind him. "But we must hurry."

Atton jumped back. He called his lightsaber to his hand and ignited it in one smooth motion. "Who are you?" He kept his twin orange blades parallel to the ground, like a fence between them.

The woman, dressed in Jedi robes with the cowl pulled low over her face, glanced furtively left and right. "My name is Elin."

"Elin?" Atton's lightsaber sagged. "That was my mother's name."

"Then it was you who named me." Though Atton couldn't see her face, he heard the smile in her words.

Atton shook his head, his scowl returning, and his lightsaber back up at the ready. "I did what? Named you? I don't even—"

"We have to go," Elin said. "_Now._"

"Uh huh," Atton said. "Let's pretend for a minute that I trust you…where the frack are we going to go? Is there a prettier piece of _nothing_ you'd like to show me?"

The woman—young girl, really, Atton guessed from her voice she was still in her teens—ignored his sarcasm. Keeping her cowl low and her head turned away from him, she quickly scanned the empty horizon. "I thought we would be safe here, but he's coming," Elin murmured, her attention still focused around them, as if she were smelling the air for rain. "And he's fallen too. So sad…he had such love in his heart for her."

Atton glanced around for the 'he' that she said was coming, and saw nothing but more barren plains.

"Time to move," Elin announced, and began striding off in what Atton thought was no particular direction. He had no choice but to follow after or be left alone. He hurried to catch up.

"About this whole being dead thing…" he began. "I seem to remember a very red, very hot lightsaber being jabbed into my gut," he told her as they half-walked, half-jogged over the dusty terrain. "That kind of wound doesn't leave you with a whole lot of options, if you know what I mean." Atton bit his lip to keep from saying more. _I can't shut up. Why can't I shut up? Maybe it's because that I'm rushing along on an empty plain on Force knows what planet with a girl who appeared out of thin air, and his last memory was being impaled by a Sith Lord. _

He chortled laughter just so he could hear the sound. _Banner day for ole Rand. But if I can hear myself laugh, I can't be dead. Dead people don't laugh. I've killed enough of them to know. _

The thought chilled his blood and he glanced at the girl. "Is this the place where the…uh, not-so-nice people go when they die?"

"No," Elin said from under her hood. "I told you, you're not dead." She stopped suddenly and turned towards him, and Atton caught a glint of blue eyes. "Would you really go somewhere bad, do you think, if you were dead?" she asked in plaintive, trembling voice that revealed her youth.

Atton shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe," he said. "Who are you?" He reached out to snatch the hood from her face but Elin moved away from his touch.

"We have to hurry. He's coming," she said, and started off again, her long brown robes stirring the dry dust.

"If you won't tell me who you are, than at least tell me who's after us. Who's _he_?" Atton's eyes widened. "Not that Sith Lord, is it?"

Elin shook her head. "No, the Zabrak. Bao-Dur."

"Bao-Dur?" Atton blinked. "See? I _am_ dead."

"I brought you here so that Revan couldn't find you," Elin explained. "I thought you'd be safe, but I'm afraid she got to him too, and now he's coming for you."

Atton nodded. "Sure, sure. Makes perfect sense."

"Really?"

"No, not really."

Atton gripped his still-ignited lightsaber and glanced around. The two of them were running now, as the landscape around them darkened more and more. "Why is Bao-Dur after me? What does he want?"

"He doesn't want you; Revan does. She wants to use you against mo—the Exile. And you'll fall again and I can't let that happen."

Atton heard the fearful determination in the girl's voice. He pulled slightly ahead of her and tried to glance down into her hood, but she turned her head.

"What do you mean, I'll fall? Who says I haven't already? And what do you care if I do or not anyway?" Atton grabbed the girl's arm and hauled her to a stop. "Look, I haven't been feeling particularly bright and shiny as of late, and after being stabbed, my bond with Dane busted, and being run through with a lightsaber, my patience is running the frack _out_." Elin tried to twist out of his grip but he only held her tighter, eliciting a gasp of pain. "Now, I'm not going to ask you again: who are you?"

"You're…hurting me…" she pleaded. "Please. We have to go. _You_ have to go…He's coming."

Atton shook her, twisting her wrist. "Answer me!" She said nothing and he reached to throw back her cowl himself, when a smooth, quiet voice sailed out of the gathering dark.

"Not very paternal of you, Rand," mused Bao-Dur, the blue blade of his lightsaber searing through the gloom before he did. "Though I can't say I'm surprised. I never had you pegged as the familial type."

Atton released Elin's arm and brought up his orange, double-bladed lightsaber up just in time to block the Iridonian's blue one.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Atton said, as their weapons locked together and hissed, "but seeing as you're dead, it can't be that important anyway."

Bao-Dur smiled, his black and red tattoos stark and deep on his pale face. "You'd be surprised." He thrust Atton away and then reversed his grip on his lightsaber, charging forward with it like a lance.

"No! Bao-Dur, don't!" Elin cried, dashing to stand in front of Atton.

"Get down!" Atton snarled. He placed his boot on the small of her back and shoved, Bao-Dur's blade missing her by an inch. Elin went sprawling into the dust as the two combatants' blades clashed again and again.

"Please!" she implored Atton. "You can't stay here." The watery light was growing darker by the moment, and the empty, barren plains were starting to take on shapes and contours that were large and stony.

Atton glanced quickly at his darkening surroundings before concentrating on his opponent. With a flourish, he whipped his orange blade around so that it was horizontal with the ground and then thrust out with each end, one after the other. Bao-Dur blocked the flurry, his blue blade a blur as it knocked Atton's orange ones aside.

"I don't want to fight you, man," Atton told him.

An uncharacteristically flippant smile touched Bao-Dur's face. He shrugged. "A little late, don't you think?" He knocked Atton's blades aside and then whipped his own upwards in a sudden, deadly attack.

Atton reared backwards to keep Bao-Dur's lightsaber from cleaving his face in two from the chin up. So startling was the attack, Atton over-compensated and his defensive flinch landed him on his back. Instantly, Bao-Dur's blue blade was hovering over him.

"Well, this looks familiar," Atton muttered.

"No!" Elin cried and threw herself between the two men. "Don't kill him!" she implored Bao-Dur.

The Zabrak snorted and sent Atton's lightsaber skittering across the dusty ground. "I couldn't kill him if I wanted to," he said. "Not here."

"See?" Atton told Elin. "Told you I was dead."

"You're not dead," Bao-Dur said, his eyes on the darkening sky. "But no longer in your body. And here, my weapon could no more slice bread than your thick head, but physical memories are hard to let go of, aren't they?"

Atton nodded. He could feel the heat from Bao-Dur's blade, heard it purr as the Zabrak motioned with it for him to get up. _If it isn't real, it's a damn fine imitation and I'm not taking any chances. I've been run through once today already. _Keeping a wary eye on the lightsaber, he slowly got to his feet.

Bao-Dur nodded. "Good. She is calling us and it is time to go."

Atton eyes widened as the sky above him solidified into a stony ceiling and stalactites reached down to meet the immense stalagmites that advanced upward. The feeling of openness vanished to be replaced by the overbearing sensation of a thousand tons of stone hanging over him. The dry dust of the plains was gone—the entire plains were gone—and Atton pulled his boot out of a puddle of brackish water. He stared, open-jawed, at the immense cavern that had sprouted up around him. "What the...?"

"The Council is convening," Bao-Dur said. "Lord Revan is waiting." He nodded his horned head toward a small clearing that was lit by the glow of three lightsabers—two red and one violet. Atton saw a ring of dark Jedi, their forms no more substantial than shadow, but their faces, marked with the corruption of the dark side, were visible to him. Some he didn't know: an old man, a Cathar, a Miraluka…and others he did. Atton's eyes widened at Mical's youthful face mottled and twisted by hate. Dustil Onasi's easy smile was replaced by a sneer, Mira's beauty was shadowed now, and Lirik Thrakill looked at home under his dark hood.

"What is this?" Atton breathed, while Elin, beside him, made a small, despairing sound.

"Lord Revan's first convening of her Sith Council," Bao-Dur said in his low voice. "It would appear as though we are the last to arrive."

Atton watched as a woman with short blond hair sauntered before the ring of shadows. There was nothing shadowy or insubstantial about her form; nor of those of Darth Tertius that stood opposite the phantom dark Jedi. Then one of Darth Tertius' two bodies stepped aside and revealed Dane Koren lying unmoving on the ground in the midst of the Sith around her.

"Dane," Atton breathed, and before he could think twice, he was surging forward. Elin grabbed his arm and, with a strength belying her small form, kept him from barreling headlong toward the clearing.

"You can't!" she hissed. "You can't help her. You'll only fall again, and this time it will be too hard to come back."

Atton tried to twist out of her grip, his eyes on Dane. So much had happened since they had been reunited and there were so many emotions at war within him, but one thing was certain: the urge that drove him to protect her was overwhelming.

_Why? What is she to me? What are we to each other anymore? _Yet Atton struggled still, and as he did, Elin's hood fell back from her face. Atton froze, while somewhere, seemingly from far away, Bao-Dur laughed.

Looking down at the girl, Atton saw Dane's wide-set blue eyes staring back at him. Her white-blond hair fell down around her shoulders to frame a pointed chin that was set determinedly. She couldn't be more than fifteen, but she wore the Jedi Padawan robes like she had been born in them. Atton was overcome with an emotion that seemed so incongruous with the reality around him, and alien to his own.

Pride.

Atton's vision swam. "Elin?" he whispered. "Are you…?" He couldn't finish his sentence; the word stuck in his throat, threatening to choke him.

Elin nodded. "Yes, Daddy."

Atton flinched as if she'd slapped him. He shook his head helplessly. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say."

"Don't say anything, just go," the girl said, her wide-set blue eyes shining with unshed tears. "Please. Go."

"It's too late," Bao-Dur commented. "The General's influence is strong. Time for both of you to take your places at the Council."

Atton tore his eyes away from Elin's—a face that was nearly identical to Dane's—and looked toward the clearing that was, in this bizarre, flip-side of life, miles and miles away, and also no more than a short walk.

Darth Tertius stood on either side of the Exile, a steady stream of blackened energy coursing from them into her. Atton understood that being on this side of the Force meant he could see it in all its incarnations. He saw the iridescent swirls of it in Revan, all colors and none mixing within her. Radiating out of Dane's body were black tendrils of corrupted Force, and each one stretched to touch the dark Jedi that ringed around her, feeding them with dark energy, but her body herself was limned in silver and glowing a muted white that was growing dimmer by the moment.

Atton turned to Elin. "I can't leave you here," he said, "and I can't leave your…" he cleared his throat, "…your mother. I have to help."

Elin shook her head, an expression of wisdom that belied her years. "You can't, Daddy. You had your battle with the dark side and now she has hers. You can't help her just like she can't help you anymore."

Atton made to protest but no words came out. _She's right. I'll only mess things up again. _Atton covered his eyes with one hand until he felt a soft touch on his arm.

"And Daddy?" Elin was smiling at him.

"Yeah?"

"I know you won't go to a bad place when you die. I just know it."

Atton blinked rapidly and then laid a hand on her head, stroking her hair. "Thanks, princess. I needed that."

"How touching," Bao-Dur mused, "but, as always, you're one step too late, Rand."

Distantly, the sound of an alarm could be heard, faint at first, but growing louder—a machine's alert, emitting a series of beeps in rapid succession. Over that sound were voices echoing in the recesses of the cavern—people shouting to one another in urgent, yet professional tones; a tinny, robotic voice joining in the orderly clamor.

"It doesn't sound like things are going too well for you on the other side," Bao-Dur commented to Atton. "Ah, well. Lord Revan had hoped the sight of you turning would push the General over the edge. I suppose the news of your death will have to suffice."

Atton turned swiftly to the girl. "Elin, what's happening?"

"You have to go back," Elin said, her voice rising. "I thought I could hide you, but I can't," she cried. "Leave, now." The black tendrils that had been streaming out of Dane were suddenly at their feet, curling around them both, like a foul vapor. The sounds of chaos from the other side grew louder and one sound extracted itself from the rest.

"Uh oh," Bao-Dur mused, his head cocked to one side. "I was a tech, not a medico, but I know the sound of a flat-line when I hear it."

"Go back! Go back to the other side! You have to," Elin begged. She beat at his chest with her small fists.

Atton shook his head. "I don't know where I am or where I came from! How can I go back?"

"Please…" Elin begged.

"I don't know how—"

"_Go!_" the girl bellowed. There was a ripple in the air, like a heat wave, and she shoved Atton with all her might…and Atton disappeared.

Where he had been standing, there was nothing. He had vanished and the emergency room sounds vanished with him, leaving only an eerie quiet.

Bao-Dur's smile fell off his face and he narrowed his eyes at Elin. "What did you do?" He used the Force to search for Atton's signature, but there was nothing. "How did you do that?"

Elin held up her hands before her, her eyes wide. "I…I don't know. I think I sent him back." A small, triumphant smile touched her lips.

Bao-Dur frowned. "Sent him back…or killed him. One's likely the same as the other. It had better be, for our sakes," he said. "Come, she's waiting."

Bao-Dur grabbed her roughly by the arm, and with a thought and another ripple in the Force, they took their places with the other phantom dark Jedi that ringed around the Exile.

* * *

**Dane…**

Dane opened her eyes slowly, cautiously. The cavern was dark; only the glow of Revan's violet lightsaber and those of Darth Tertius—burning red like embers—kept the blackness at bay. From her prone position on the ground, Dane felt the Dark Lord of the Sith standing behind her—the living entity with his hand stretched out, his fingertips hovering over the back of her neck as he channeled his energy. His cybernetic twin mirrored his position and both were utterly still, their pale faces covered by their hoods.

Before her, Revan stood, leaning casually against a stalagmite, smoking a cigarra. With a pang of grief, Dane saw the shade of Bao-Dur standing to one side, his cybernetic arm casting a dull glow, his face darkened by blood-red and black tattoos.

"Well, well, well, look who's decided to join us." Revan smiled lazily. "At least, I hope you're ready to join us. We've wasted enough time as it is and I grow tired of your resistance." Revan's dark blue eyes flashed yellow as her beautiful face suddenly contorted in anger. "Twice you drew your lightsaber against me, Dane. _Me_. You dared to threaten me when the souls of every Jedi are at my fingertips?" Revan snorted. She inhaled from her cigarra one more time before crushing it under her boot.

"What do you mean?" Dane asked, her voice no more than a croak. The energy Darth Tertius channeled into her made her feel as though her blood had turned to putrid oil, and her insides were filled with rotting flesh and decay.

"Look on them, Dane," Revan said. "They're our new Council. The council _you_ helped to create. You and your wound."

Dane sat up slowly as a wave of dizziness spun her vision. When it passed, she looked into the shadows behind Revan.

At first she saw nothing, but as her eyes adjusted, she saw different shadows than those cast naturally by the glow of the lightsabers. Shadows in the form of robed figures hovered among the rocks behind Revan. Another pang swept through Dane as she regarded her friends, the Jedi who were now fallen and trapped halfway between life and death, and entirely under Revan's sway. Her gaze went to each of their faces, twisted and gaunt with the dark side, the eyes that met hers flashing yellow. _My friends…I'm so sorry…_

But there were too many. Even with Lirik and Bao-Dur among them, there should only have been eight, but nine figures were aligned behind Revan. _Atton…? Gods, no, he can't take it again. Not again…_

A slow smile spread over the Sith Lord's face as she watched Dane. "You were always good at math," Revan said. Without looking around at the figures behind her, she said, "Step forward, kid, and say hello to mommy."

Dane could only stare as the ninth figure, slight and slender, was hauled forward by Bao-Dur. Delicate hands reached up to pull back the cowl and revealed a face so like Dane's own…_But for her jaw and cheekbones, they are like Atton's…_ Dane thought, an echo of words spoken another time.

"Mother…" cried the shade of a young woman and Dane's gasp echoed through the cavern like the hiss of snake. Even as she watched, Dane could see the taint of the dark side falling over her child like a shadow. The girl's tears were turning sour as they course down cheeks that were becoming mottled and gray.

Rage swelled in Dane and threatened to sweep away the last part of her that she recognized. She nearly gave in, nearly fell off the edge she didn't even know she had been teetering on. The image of her beautiful child as a Sith, her beauty marred by tracks of illness and her eyes flat and yellow, stole Dane's breath away…but inspired her too. It was then she clearly saw the price for surrender. _This is the future I see. If I fall, they are lost forever…_

"No!" Dane cried and mustered her waning strength. Though it tore at her heart to leave her child, she stumbled to her feet and ran. _That is not my daughter, not yet…_she thought and the thought was her only consolation.

Dane had little hope that she would get far, and Revan's gravelly laugh that followed her into the pitch-blackness outside the meager light of the lightsabers was proof of that. The laugh, easy and comfortable, told Dane that Revan was not concerned over her flight. _Why would she be? She can light up this whole room with the Force if she wanted. Or follow Darth Tertius's bond…_

That laugh, the sickening, relentless energies coursing into her, the image of her daughter seared into her mind's eye…Dane felt something shift in her. An anger that had nothing to do with the dark side took root in her and flourished. _Enough. Too long I have been a ship floundering in turbulent waters, swayed this way and that by the tides of the galaxy. No longer. Not anymore. _Dane crouched behind a stalagmite, mustering her strength. She called Kreia's words to mind, used them to try to stay afloat. _I see your battlefield, Kreia, and she and I are on it. But I see her standing victorious in the end. There never was a battlefield she bent her knee upon. _

_Revan is powerful, yes, but she was never my greatest pupil…_

Dane closed her eyes, quelling the nausea of Darth Tertius's power. _Was it me? _she wondered. _I'll never know unless I am free of him._

Dane took a steadying breath and concentrated on the channel that was open between herself and the Dark Lord of the Sith. _We are bonded, _she thought, disgusted. She studied the blackened conduit that snaked out of the dark and into her. _I must break it, but how?_ _Like the bond with Atton…I broke it with but a thought…_

…and just like that—with a thought and a breath—the bond Darth Tertius had forced upon her was broken.

The sickening waves abruptly ceased and the feeling of illness and rot left her. The hatred and anger the Sith Lord tried to stoke in her died. The memories he had tainted, righted themselves in her mind.

_And my friends, my daughter, _Dane thought. She could see the conduits Revan had used to call the Jedi from their living bodies…it was through her own—Dane's—influence Revan had used to collect them, and a flash of anger colored The Exile's face. _I will not be used… Say goodbye to your so-called Council, Revan,_ she thought and snapped those conduits too.

From her crouched position behind a stone, Dane watched with satisfaction as the shadows of the Jedi evaporated into the dark cavern. Revan's curse of rage echoed along the stones and hollows, and Dane had to slip behind another boulder as the one she had been crouched behind shattered into a thousand pieces with Revan's wrath.

_And you too, daughter, _Dane sent quickly. _To me. _

She watched as the girl's cowled head turned toward her and a smile lit up her youthful face. Elin nodded once and then was gone, leaving Bao-Dur holding empty air.

"Your suffering will be spectacular," Revan's voice came out of the dark, all laughter in it dead. "You're smarter than this. Don't make me come after you, General, for I promise you will surely regret it."

Dane could feel the strength and energy of her daughter flare inside her, vibrant and alive.

"All right, Revan," she called into the echoing dark of the cavern with a smile. "Come and get me."

* * *

**Jedi Temple, Coruscant **

**Mission…**

The Twi'lek felt tears spill down her cheeks from eyes that wouldn't close. Trapped in Dustil's stasis, she could do nothing as his hands worked their way into her shirt and across her bare skin. His touch, once sweet and delicious to her was now vile, and Mission felt a peculiar mix of emotions: absolute rage blended with the pain of a breaking heart.

_What has happened to him? _She had no answer; only the ever-growing certainty that this was no joke or jest—that something terrible had come over Dustil and there was nothing she could do about it… _Not like this, _she cried silently. _Not like this, no…_

And then the rigidity of her muscles suddenly fled and she heard a _thud_ from behind her. Mission wasted no time, but sprang away from Dustil, her eyes darting this way and that for a weapon as she dove behind a chair.

She expected him to come after her and could almost envision her protection being tossed into the air in a Force gale, and Dustil looming over her and ready to hurt her much more than he had already intended. Instead, the chair she cowered behind remained where it was, and a quick peak over it showed Dustil lying prone on the floor, unmoving, his eyes wide and staring.

"This isn't happening," Mission said in a tiny voice. "No, no, no, it's a trap." But Dustil remained motionless, his cheek pressed to the ground, his eyes unblinking and vacant. Lying beside his outstretched hand was his lightsaber, disengaged.

"He's dead?" Mission asked the empty room, her voice cracking. She took a shaky breath and rose from her crouch, one hand clutching her shirt closed, the other trembling so bad she had to make a fist.

Never taking her eyes off of Dustil's empty brown ones, Mission slowly crossed the little cell to him. As carefully as she could manage she knelt down and, in one swift motion, snatched up the lightsaber. Dustil didn't move.

"You bastard!" Mission screeched. She held the cylinder in both hands but was too frightened to ignite the blade. "You can't just _die_ now!" Tears streaked down her cheeks and Mission cursed him between sobs. "Dustil! Dustil, _get up_, you fracking son of a _schutta_!"

Anger and grief won out over fear, and Mission surged forward and drove her little foot into Dustil's side. A breath _whooshed_ out of his inert form and Mission, poised to kick him again, saw that his side where she'd struck him was moving. Though his eyes were wide and staring, he was breathing. He was alive.

Mission's eyes widened. "What?" she cried in a high, indignant pitch. She backed away from him, tripped over the chair she had been hiding behind, and fell hard onto her backside. She slumped where she sat, her shoulders shaking with sobs, the lightsaber cylinder in her lap.

A split second later, the door to the cell scraped open and Mission let out another high-pitched shriek. Zaalbar strode into the room and the Twi'lek, seeing her friend, began a fresh round of sobs.

"Zaalbar!" Mission jumped to her feet and buried her face in her friend's soft pelt.

:_The others are like him_: the Wookiee grunted, wrapping his long arms around her and fixing a cold, yellow eye on Dustil. :_I was worried for you. Are you all right:_

Mission shook her head, still not looking up from his embrace, and wailed, "Big Z, just what the hell is going on around here?" 

She heard Zaalbar's growling reply begin in his chest when suddenly Dustil gasped sharply, and Mission quailed in fear all over again. Distantly, like an echo to her own emotions, the Twi'lek heard a female's voice scream in pain and surprise, but Mission's eyes were only for the figure on the floor who was slowly rising to his feet. Zaalbar's protective growl rumbled in her ear.

"M-Mission?" Dustil asked, groping blindly around him. "Mission, please," he said, turning his sightless eyes to her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Mish. It wasn't me. I…I don't know what happened. Please. Say something."

The Twi'lek, tears streaming down her cheeks, shook her head.

"Oh, Dustil," she said softly, "I have nothing to say to you." And then she turned and went out.

* * *

**Visas…**

The lightsaber had burned a hole in the matted rug beside her, but no more. _Fortunate, _she mused, and then took stock of the situation with the Force. Her memory was in shards, like a shattered picture—she could not see the whole, but the individual pieces told her enough. From her left, she saw Juhani's agonized grief in shades of deep purple laced with yellow. To her right, she saw the tears of Mission in blue and lavender swirl with the orange flare of Dustil's guilty panic. Her own energies were the fading black of sacrificial debasement, tinged with bright violet that was her signature, growing brighter with every moment.

_Her influence is stronger than I had known. _

Visas got to her feet and hurried toward Juhani's cell. _Defeat her, Dane, _she sent. _We will not survive another strike like that again. _

* * *

**Dane…**

She heard the Miraluka's words in her mind, and felt her worry and then grief. Something terrible had happened but before Dane could reply, Bao-Dur appeared before her. Dane blinked her eyes at the sight of him, for after the blackness even the blue fire of his lightsaber was brilliant to her.

She didn't fear him; even as she watched, his tattoos were growing lighter, leaving his face as it had been in life—kind and serene. He disengaged his lightsaber. The only light now was that which limned him—a gentle blue aura that matched his gentle smile.

"I can't remember too much anymore, General," he told her. "It's all leaving me so fast and I'm so tired." He looked down at her. "I won't be around to watch over you anymore."

Dane's smile was tremulous. "It's all right, Bao-Dur. You've earned your rest."

Bao-Dur nodded. "Revan wanted me to find Atton," he said after a moment. "And he was here but Elin sent him back. I think she saved him."

"Just like you said," Dane whispered.

Bao-Dur's brow furrowed. "Revan threatened me…but it doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

Dane could only shake her head.

"For me there will be rest," he stated. "I'm so tired, General. I would like to rest now."

Suddenly Dane was on the _Ebon Hawk_, just after the destruction of Malachor, and she was losing him all over again.

Bao-Dur smiled his gentle smile. "All that pain and anger…I can't remember anymore, why I held on to if for so long. It wasn't worth anything." He looked down at her. "Better to remember the friendship… and the love."

Dane found it hard to meet his eyes just then, but a small, forlorn voice told her it would be the last time, and so she drank him in as the Force pulsed and flowed between them. "Goodbye, Bao-Dur," she said after she had found her voice. "Thank you for everything, always." She shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "There aren't enough words, or the right ones…"

His smile widened. "You don't need them, General," he said in his gentle, soft voice. "I know."

And then he was gone, leaving behind only the Force—vapors of it that were serene and laden with the smell of engine grease. Those ribbons of energy were full of him, and Dane called them to her, held on to them with her soul, and took solace in the knowledge that so long as she had the Force, Bao-Dur would be with her always.

* * *

**Darth Tertius…**

"_This will end badly for Revan,"_ he commented telepathically to his cybernetic enhancement_. "I need not the Force to see that. She has squandered her advantage."_

_Even now, she wastes time, insisting that the Exile will bow down to her, _the enhancement returned.

_"The Exile will never turn,"_ the principal unit sent _"If I can't make her, no one can. She will have to die."_

The Sith Lord's twin nodded. _But not yet…_

_"Aye. Let us allow the Exile to destroy Revan..."_

_And then we shall destroy the Exile…_

Darth Tertius smiled. "I do so love a clean house."

* * *

**Dane…**

Dane wiped a tear away and blew out a breath. She pushed the events of the last hour out of her mind and concentrated on her task. The Jedi gone and her bond with Darth Tertius severed, she felt lighter now, and also a tremendous urge to run, to hurry, but she didn't know where. _The answers are so close, I just have to find them. My wound. _Dane, so wrapped up in her thoughts, didn't even realize she was hurrying, not toward where she thought the exit might be, but toward Revan.

_For all your wondrous power, it remains with you still, and will remain until what was made wrong is put right again…_

Dane nodded. _The healing, my child, that will put it right. _She had held on to that belief, like a mantra against the despair. If Revan couldn't heal her wound, then her child and the healing ability she could bring to the world would. She had believed it because that was all she had. Now, it felt false to her, but instead of despair, she kept going, kept seeking the answers that _were_ true.

_You think the Force punished you, but it did not. It gave you a gift—you call it your wound, some would say a weapon._

Dane ducked under a low-hanging stalactite without thinking twice. _A gift? How? _

Dane, fairly running now, jumped over a puddle of brackish water and ducked under another stalactite, the Force guiding her through the dark that was too deep for her eyes to penetrate.

_The Force was outraged, in its own way, at the lives taken in her name, and so gave you the means to stop her, to restore the balance, to put an end to her conquest._

Dane shook her head and came to a halt. "It is a weapon against Revan? How can that be?" she murmured.

"I don't know," came a cold, gravelly voice, "but why don't we find out?"

Dane ducked behind a boulder just as Revan's lightsaber careened end-over-end at her head. A shower of sparks rained over the Exile and she quickly scrambled away to crouch behind another stone.

Revan recalled her lightsaber to her hand. "Dane, Dane, Dane," she mused, idly flipping the hilt of her violet blade over her wrist. The faint, purplish light gave Revan's skin a greenish tinge. "I don't want to fight you," she said. "Namely because I will kill you, and as I've said so many times I'm actually sick of hearing the words: _to do so would be such a waste._ Come out from whatever rock you're skulking under and let's negotiate."

"You have nothing to offer me," Dane called and hurriedly erected a Force shield over herself as the boulder she had been taking shelter behind was lifted in the air and crashed down on top of her. It struck her shield and shattered, raining shards of stone. Dane rolled away as Revan's Force shock scorched the ground where she had been kneeling only a moment before. The Exile dashed behind a tall stalactite and caught her breath.

"What did you do to my Council, Dane?" Revan asked casually. She was twenty or so paces away, but sauntering closer to where Dane hid. "If you don't cooperate, I _will _have to kill you and then hunt down the Jedi myself. And believe me, this time their reprogramming will not be done with a flash of Tertius' power and a blink of your pretty little eye."

Dane ignored the woman's threats and concentrated_. My wound, _she thought quickly. _How can I use it against her? _The stalactite she hid behind began to shudder and before Dane could react, it shattered. Sharp shards of glass-like rock sprayed over her, cutting her face, her hands, her forehead. Dane threw up her arms and ran for cover, moving deeper into the cavern and away from the light of Revan's lightsaber.

"See now, I don't want to have to do that," Revan complained. "Join me, Dane," she wheedled. "Share the galaxy with me. It's a big one—there's more than enough of it to go around."

"Is that so?" Dane called, dabbing her face with the grimy sleeve of her robe. She bled from a half-dozen places but healing with the Force would signal her location much faster than her echoing voice would. "And what tiny little corner of it will you deign to give me?"

From her hiding place, Dane could see Revan narrow her eyes. "That's my girl," she said. "Your share in the spoils is negotiable but will be considerable."

Dane shook her head. _More lies_. She sighed. _Kreia, tell me. What is it I'm supposed to do? _Aloud, she said, "And what will you do with Telos, Revan?"

The woman paused and the confident expression fell from her face like a mask slipping off. "Telos." There was a pause. "There's nothing Telos has that I want."

"Are you sure about that? There's an admiral there…"

"No!" Revan said. She frantically scanned the dark, searching for where Dane hid, but her rage was clouding her vision. "I told you not to speak of him!"

"Are you truly ready to make him your enemy?" Dane persisted. "He _will_ fight you and anyone else who threatens the peace he worked so hard to achieve. Say his name, Revan—"

"Shut up!"

"Say his name and remember a time when there was no hate…"

"I said, shut up!"

"Say it, and maybe you'll rethink how you want to carve up this galaxy, because it belongs to him too."

"Shut…your…mouth."

"It belongs to _Carth Onasi_—"

Revan whipped her lightsaber in a blurred arc and slammed the tip of it into the ground. _"Don't…toy…with…me!"_ she thundered, her voice Force-enhanced so that it shook the ground under Dane's feet and sent a shower of rocks to cascade down around her. Dane curled into a ball and rolled away just as a huge stalactite fell from the cavern ceiling, it's blunt point hammering into the ground and exploding in a spray of rock and dirt.

Dane brushed the silt and dust from her eyes in time to see another stalactite came loose under Revan's power. Dane almost didn't dodge it in time; the massive rock grazed her leg, tearing her leggings and a fair amount of skin as well. _Love will not sway her,_ Dane thought biting back a cry of pain as she dragged herself behind another rock. _I have no weapon with which to fight her…_

_Remember my words…_

_I'm trying, Master, _Dane thought, and fought a swell of panic that was rising in her. _You said to seek Revan and I did! What else? What am I not seeing?_

She channeled the Force to heal her leg and instantly regretted it. Like a heat-seeking missile drawn to a thermal exhaust, Revan homed in on Dane's Force energy. Dane barely had time to erect her own shield before the space she crouched in became an enormous ball of flame. She drew in a lungful of super-heated air just as her shield kept the flames from touching her.

Dane coughed and gasped, drawing in the Force at the same time to heal her burning throat, and then Revan's voice came out of the darkness, calm now, and deadly smooth.

"You realize, of course, that it is I who toys with you. I am the cat and you are my moth, and soon I will grow tired of you. I may tear off a wing or two, but then the time will come for me to get down to business. And that's what we are going to do, you and I—get down to business.

"I want you to listen to me, Dane, and listen well. You have no weapon against me, you cannot fight me, you will die. Those are all truths and in them is your choice. Join me or die. But please know that if you do indeed choose to perish, there will be no peace in your death. I will cast you into a hell of my own devising. You will find no haven there, or peace, or safety. Instead, you will find the thousands of poor souls you murdered on Malachor V. You think I lie? You think I can't call each and every one of them as I did your friends?" Revan snorted laughter. "The galaxy is littered with the corpses of those who have underestimated me, Dane," she continued, prowling along the periphery of the meager light cast by her violet lightsaber and the dark of the cavern. "Don't make that same mistake."

Deep in the dark Dane crouched, holding her injured leg, and she squeezed her eyes shut as Revan prowled ever nearer. _My dying words…_Dane cleared her mind, blocking out the pain that radiated up her thigh, and tried to remember. A boulder the size of a baby bantha hurled out of the shadows and Dane only barely managed to duck in time to keep the huge rock from sweeping her head from her shoulders.

"Do you understand what I am trying to tell you?" Revan wondered. "The destiny you are choosing for yourself bears little resemblance to a lesser of two evils. The Sith—the true Sith—have won this day…"

Dane froze where she crouched. "The true Sith…" Kreia's words—her dying words uttered in the gradual ruin of Malachor V—began to come to Dane like threads from a tattered weave. But before she could even begin to lace them together, Revan, with a tearing in the Force, stepped out of the darkness and swiftly knelt before her.

The woman brought the tip of her lightsaber inches from Dane's chin. "See? Told you, you can't hide from me. Are you ready to submit or must I try some persuasion?" She moved the tip of the blade closer so that Dane could feel it burning the skin of her cheek "You'll serve me just as well with one eye as with two." Revan laughed. "Hell, Malak didn't even have a _jaw_ by the time he had come around to my way of seeing things."

Dane slowly raised her eyes to meet Revan's, her disgust vibrant in the violet glow of the lightsaber. "You are the bane of this galaxy," shetold Revan ina low voice. "You are a plague, a disease that goes into remission, only to come again, worse than before. You bring nothing but pain to those around you. You and Darth Tertius who is, even now, lurking in the dark, waiting for us to finish each other…you and him." Dane shook her head, disgusted. "You cannot 'sway' me. I will never submit to you. Never."

_Now, Kreia. If ever there was the time, it is now…_

Revan's eyes widened. "Bane of the galaxy, eh? I like that. But such harsh words!" She shrugged, her smile impudent. "The galaxy needs us Dane. It needs the Count and Tertius and me and every Sith to remind them what's worth fighting for."

_The galaxy will need its betrayers in the time to come…_

Dane's head shot up and she looked sharply at Revan. "What did you say?"

Revan sighed and said, as if to herself, "I give their lives meaning. I give _your_ life meaning, Dane. For how could you see how bright you are without the dark of my shadow falling beside you?"

_She is the Dark Lord of the Sith and you are her Exile. Opposite ends of the spectrum…_

"The Sith I've been fighting these last four years were never a danger to the galaxy or the Republic," Revan continued. "They were not true Sith. No, the battle I have been fighting is merely a continuance of the one I've been fighting ever since the Civil War. Though the Council erased the memory of Darth Revan from my mind, they could not—and did not—erase it from my soul. And that Revan, the true me, has been clamoring to be heard for half a decade."

_Revan knew the war was not against the Republic but against the true Sith and has gone to fight it in her own way…_

Dane's heart was hammering in her chest, but she kept her face placid.

"But the Sith," Revan said, "the true Sith, is not an army or the Count or his mechanical abomination. Not at all. The blasters, and canons, and fighters; this base, my men, my Jedi…In the end they were meaningless."

_She left the Ebon Hawk and all its machines behind, for she knew she would not need them. The true Sith is a belief…_

"Darth Tertius emerged out of the dark and helped me to see that the false memories, the manufactured persona the Jedi thrust upon me was the only enemy left to me. The battle wasn't against the true Sith, but for its preservation. The empire I created after Malachor V, my dominion in the dark side of the Force, was absolute in its purity. The _belief _in the ideals of the Sith was never more strong and fruitful than it was when I was at the pinnacle of my power. That belief is the true Sith, and the true Sith is me. I am the _true Sith_…"

_You must go where Revan did, into the Unknown Regions where the Sith, the true Sith, wait in the dark for the great war that comes…_

"…and under my rule, that dark empire will grow again. It has only been waiting for me, in the shadows, to come and reclaim it. And now that I have, the real war will come."

Starbursts exploded before Dane's eyes as Revan's black-gloved hand shot out of the dark and closed around her throat, crushing it. But still Kreia's words resounded in her head and, like the light of dawn creeping over a night-darkened land, understanding came at last.

_You will join Revan in the Unknown Regions…_

Dane clutched the hand that gripped her throat with both of her own. _Yes, Master, I have come…_

…_and do battle with her at the end of all things…_

Dane mustered her strength, she threw off Revan's hands and sucked in a great draught of air. "I am here, Revan…" she gasped.

Revan sat back on her heels and smiled a wide, triumphant smile. "That's right. You will stand by my side and together—"

"No," Dane said, shaking her head. "I will do battle _with _you Revan, just as Kreia said." The Exile laughed weakly. "And the end I have been searching for is here."

Rage flared in Revan's eyes and suddenly her violet blade was inches from Dane's face again; the Exile could feel the heat of it scorching her cheek. "Enough. I pour my heart out to you and yet you still betray me. You make me sad, Dane, but…such is life. Farewell, Exile." Revan shook her head. "Such a pity," she sighed and then drew her lightsaber back to thrust it through Dane' heart.

But Dane held up her hand.

One small, insignificant motion, but Revan froze as if Dane had put her in an impenetrable Stasis. The Sith Lord's brows furrowed uncertainly as she tasted the Force energy that was slowly blooming in Dane's outstretched hands.

"What…?"

"Yes," Dane said, softly but surely, her eyes capturing Revan's. She sat up straighter, her hand still outstretched. "I am the Exile. I am the beacon of light and you are the corruption. And here we stand on our battlefield, me on one side and you on the other. But the time has come, Revan, to restore the balance. The time has come for me to be free."

Dane pushed herself off the wall and rose to her feet, Revan falling away as though held in thrall by the calm determination and peace that radiated from the other woman. "I see now what Kreia meant. The wound, it is a gift from the Force. A gift…and a weapon to stop you."

Revan scoffed but her eyes darted uncertainly. "You can't stop me. No one can." Her voice grew stronger, louder, but her lightsaber remained at her side, clutched in a trembling hand. "You have no weapon, only a wound that _you _gave yourself, firing off that mass shadow generator…"

"Yes, I activated it and I have paid my penance for it," Dane said, stepping forward while Revan stepped back. "The pain of it is exquisite and the weight a thousand tons, and for ten years I have borne it. The wound, and everything that went with it—uncertainty, loneliness, grief. I did everything in my power to heal it: I loved desperately, I sacrificed selflessly, I gave of my own body to heal, I cried buckets of tears for those I loved and for myself, all the while hoping that with every selfless act, with every swell of love for my friends, for Atton, and for every tear shed, that I would _heal that wound._"

Revan took a step back, her eyes wide and uncertain.

Dane shrugged. "But it didn't work. Not even the conception of my child can appease it for it was never my debt to pay. It was yours. I see now what Kreia was trying to tell me. I may have activated the mass shadow generator," Dane said, "but I was under your orders to do so. It was your command that Bao-Dur engineer it, born of a concept that came from your own mind and heart."

"I-I had to end the war," Revan said. "And I did…"

"Yes, you did. The only way you knew how. You are the most powerful Force-adept this galaxy has ever known," Dane said, her voice low and steady, "but you are the last person competent to wield that power."

Revan's eyes were wide now, and sweat beaded on her brow. "I have done good," she breathed. "I have helped…"

"Yes," Dane said, "and you are not without hope. I know your capacity for love is as strong—if not stronger—than your capacity for hate. I know. I have seen it in Carth Onasi's eyes and have read it in your own words—" Dane's hand went into her robes and she pulled out a battered and scratched datapad.

Revan's eyes widened at the sight and her chest rose and fell in a rapid cadence.

Dane smiled gently. "It is not your fault. No one should have as much power as you—the potential for corruption is too great. And so, you won't have it any longer. It is time to set things right again; to restore the balance. And I will carry this wound no longer." She smiled gently. "I'm sorry, Revan. But the Force demands it."

Revan tore her eyes from the datapad and lifted her lightsaber. "No! I won't let you—" she began and rushed forward, her violet blade swinging in a deadly arc.

With one fluid motion, Dane tossed the datapad—the one Carth had given her on Coruscant, the one that contained Revan's parting words to him—into the air. Revan stopped, a small cry escaping her as she watched the device fall end over end. The Sith Lord ceased her killing stroke but let her lightsaber fall to the ground and thrust out both hands instead, to catch the datapad before it could smash to the ground.

Dane smiled as she watched Revan fall to her knees and clasp the small prize to her heart, her weapon rolling across the ground, forgotten.

"I knew it," the Exile murmured. "There is always hope for those who have fallen," she said. "Always."

And then Dane Koren called upon the Force in the way only she was able to.

The energy she had summoned was not a part of the living ribbon Darth Tertius had tried to corrupt. His power had been channeled through her wound where the Force touched her and went sour. Dane, instead, drew upon the void that was left behind from that touch. The real wound was the nothing that was born when the mass shadow generator was activated. It was the nothing that Dane had unknowingly used to cut herself off from the Force completely when the pain had become too much. And it was that nothing that Kreia knew could kill the Force. From that nothing, Dane crafted her weapon.

Revan's eyes widened as the nature and quality of the Force that Dane was summoning became clear to her. She tried to take action; to run or hide or protect herself, or kill her counterpart. But she could do nothing but kneel at the Exile's feet, clutching the datapad to her, as the Force's wound streamed out of her open palm.

It was colorless, empty, its presence only detectable by a shifting in the air…and the screams of the dead at Malachor that echoed within it. The sensation of it, and the horrible screams that emitted from it like peals of grotesque thunder froze Revan where she knelt and she could only stare, opened-mouthed, at this, the Exile's wound.

The wavering ribbons of air coiled around Revan, making her the eye of a terrible storm of screams and death and pain and living energy snuffed too soon. Revan threw back her head and let loose a scream of heart-rending agony.

"Don't do this to me!" she howled. Dane gritted her teeth at the woman's pain, but drew the void tighter around Revan. Her hand was steady and never faltered, and as the wound streamed out, Dane felt an ecstasy replace it. The ecstasy and relief of one who's carried a heavy burden for a long time and is setting it down at last.

Dane closed her eyes with the rapture and so did not see the datapad fall from nerveless fingers. She did not see Revan, panicked and frantic, try to channel the Force at Dane, to choke her, to shock her, to crush the life out of her. The Exile did not see the horror that fell over the Sith Lord as Revan realized the Force had died in her. Revan, the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy, at one time its savior of the galaxy, another its conqueror, was now bereft of the Force…and so not a Jedi any longer.

The heart of the Force had ceased to beat.

Dane had a terrifying moment in which she wondered if she had, indeed, killed the Force. But instead of a recession of her own energies within her, Dane felt her soul come alive. Her power grew stronger and more potent, until she could imagine it coursing through her veins like molten silver. Every nerve tingled and she looked down at the skin of her hands that glowed faintly with a pale light. The weight of a million souls crying out to be laid to rest was lifted from her and she bowed her head at the relief that surged through her. The Force, freed of Revan, and beating again to its own rhythms, was restoring what had been broken and Dane's wound was healed at last.

There came a quiet in which Dane took her victory and cherished it….until her dark counterpart emerged from her shocked silence and found her voice again.

Revan screamed a scream of terrible anguish and loss. Her mournful wail echoed around the cavern, and her whole body slumped in defeat as the first waves of grief swept through her. "No, no, no, no, no," she moaned. "Please…_please, _no." Revan bent over, hugging herself, as though she cradled the dead body of a loved one in her arms.

Dane's heart went out to the woman but her resolve never weakened. _It had to be done. __It is the right thing, no matter how terrible it is…for Revan, it is right. _Dane called her own lightsaber from Revan's belt and ignited the emerald blade. Darth Tertius was somewhere in the cavern and would have to be dealt with.

"Your suffering…will be exquisite….I promise you," Revan snarled weakly, but Dane saw fear and uncertainty in the woman's eyes. "You have ended nothing," she cried. "The war will go on. There will…_always_..._be_…_Sith_."

"True," Dane said quietly, "but there will never again be one such as you."


	46. Darth Tertius

**Chapter 46**

**Darth Tertius**

**Lirik…**

Lirik Thrakill's return to his body from the unknown cavern he had been abruptly summoned to included a pit stop.

He didn't want to return to his body, it being a broken and bloody thing; nothing more than a fleshy cage of pain. And the journey was disorienting. One moment, he was plotting the death of the Count. The next, he was a phantom soldier of the infamous Revan, called to her side only so that she might show off her considerable power. Shortly after that he was released from her clutches by the Exile and sent hurtling through the ether, back to his body.

But before he returned to his painful husk—and he honestly debated whether or not he should just forgo that whole distressing business—his spirit-self took a detour to the day, ten years before, when he and Lanik had joined the Sith.

He watched as, in his mind's eye, the memory of that long-ago afternoon played before him. He watched as his eighteen-year old self was beaten bloody by his brother who, with every blow, admonished him to give in. That day, Lirik did. If not to end the jolting pain of the shock stick, then to appease Lanik. After all, Lanik was going to go and if Lirik didn't join him, he would be alone. Such a future was incomprehensible.

But Lirik could see there was more to that agreement than just wanting a cessation of pain or fear of abandonment. He could see in his younger self's eyes a burning anger. Anger for being born into a life of poverty and destitution on a little-known rock at the edge of the galaxy. Hatred for the father who left them, and the mother who thought it more important to frequent the cantinas than it was to feed her young sons. Resentment curdled his blood for the fate that had been dealt to him. He, Lirik Thrakill, was far more clever, wily, and important than the galaxy seemed to think he was. Lirik watched that memory unfold, watched it blend and fade into the reality before him so that the edges of it were lost and he could not see where one began and the other left off.

He was standing amongst those who were supposed to lift him from the destitution and despair. He was a high-ranking member of a group that was supposed to bring him glory and triumph; that had promised him the opportunity to crush those who had dared to underestimate him. But his childhood remained as intact and whole in his memory as ever; those who had mocked or used or abused him—including his own brother—were dead. Nothing had changed. Nothing that had been promised was ever delivered.

Lirik stood among the Sith, stripped to the waist, bloody, covered in a skein of sweat, and held like a drooping weed between two of his own, and watched as the memory finally faded away. Only Lanik's disapproving face remained before him, his expression clear as day: _You failed me._

Lirik shook his head. _No, you failed me, brother. And I failed myself. That shock stick wasn't nearly so bad as I had made it out to be._

"Hope you don't mind, Lirik," the Count was muttering, "but I think I shall drink to your death. A draught of Dantooine Flash Fire; a toast to you, as it were." The old man peered at the younger from under his cowl. "Was this the honorable death you had in mind?" he chortled.

Lirik, still gripped in the arms of his captors, shook his head feebly. "Yes, lord. Thank you, lord, for the honor." Lanik's visage smirked and shook its head.

The Count nodded at the Sith brute who had been pummeling Lirik in between the Count's own torturous Force assaults. "Give him his robe. He's asked to die like a Sith, remember?" He snorted again and downed a shot of the amber liquor he'd been partaking of when Lirik had first arrived, the Dantooine Flash Fire.

The brutish, lightsaber _and_ blaster-wielding dark Jedi, the one Lirik had inexplicably named 'Todd', grunted and tossed Lirik's outer robe over his shoulders. Lirik faltered at the weight of it, and his brother's imagined derision increased.

"Why don't you try getting shot full of holes and see how you fare?" he muttered.

"What's that?" The Count wheeled around. "Talking to yourself, eh? Well, make it good my boy, they are—after all—going to be your last words." He chuckled a thick, rattling laugh and nodded at Todd who pulled a blaster out of his holster in response. "Speak your last, Lirik. The Thrakills are about to become obsolete."

His end had come, his death was upon him and the wavering image of Lanik could only shrug and shake his head. _That's it? _Lirik wondered. _A shrug and a smirk, brother? _Lirik felt a duality of emotion split him down the middle—grief for the loss of his brother, and grief for the fact that part of him was becoming _glad_ Lanik was dead. _Time to cleave off the half that has done nothing for the good of me, not since that day, ten years ago. Go to hell, Lanik, if you're not already there, _Lirik thought. _You've made your choice and look where it got you. But me, I'm still alive. For now, I am still _alive.

He watched as the Count put away another shot of the extremely potent Dantooine Flash Fire, and then gave a nod to Todd. The big Sith smiled and drew a blaster out his holster.

"My lord," Lirik said suddenly, as the blaster was laid to his temple. "Might I have one final request?"

"Perhaps," the Count replied. "Depends on what it is. My generosity is being stretched enough already by giving you a merciful death."

"Quite right, lord, but what I ask is a trifle," Lirik said, his heart thudding dully in his ears. The blaster muzzle was cold and very real against his feverish skin, and the expression on Todd's face revealed he was more than eager to put away the uppity officer who had killed his friend. Lirik swallowed hard. "Please, lord," he said. "All I ask is for a cigarra. One last smoke, and then you may do with me as you will."

There was a tense moment of silence that stretched out into multiples of infinity for Lirik, and he prayed that Todd wasn't smart enough to decide to pull the trigger now and say his finger slipped later. Finally, the Count nodded.

"Very well. One cigarra," he said and made a negating motion with his hand. "One cigarra for you and another drink for me, and then I'm rid of the Thrakills forever." He chuckled again and downed another shot of the Flash Fire.

Todd very reluctantly withdrew his weapon and Lirik eased a sighed of relief. The soldiers holding his arms didn't move, however, prompting Todd to dig around in Lirik's outer robe pockets for the smoke. Lirik winced and stifled a groan; the huge man was none-too-gentle in his search and his meaty fists brushed against bleeding blaster holes as he retrieved the cigarras.

"I know you're doing that on purpose," Lirik muttered to him. Todd smiled smugly and tucked a cigarra into the corner of Lirik's mouth and lit it. The beefy soldier stepped aside and Lirik faced the Count.

"Enjoying it?" the Count mused. "My guess would be no."

The Count guessed right. His hands bound, Lirik could only puff at the cigarra from one corner of his mouth and exhale around it. The smoke made a direct line for his eyes, causing them to water, and the act of smoking itself was causing a variety of nauseous sensations to churn in his stomach. But Lirik ignored every discomfort and watched the Count, waiting.

Finally, the Count reached for his liquor again. Blinking back tears, Lirik watched as the Sith lord poured the thick contents into his small glass, and then began to lift it to his mouth. _Here goes nothing,_ Lirik thought, and then called upon the Force.

It was a little thing—requiring no more Force energy than a fluttering eyelid or a whispered word, and Lirik sent the burning clump of ash at the tip of his cigarra darting through the air to touch the liquor in the Count's glass. As he had hoped—as he had _prayed—_Lirik saw the potent Flash Fire ignite so that a small, incandescent flame swirled around the inner rim of the glass. The Count never saw it, but downed the shot, flame and all.

There was a tense moment where Lirik wondered if his idea was going to work or if he had just forfeited his 'merciful' death. But the Count immediately dropped the glass and clutched his throat with both bony hands. Lirik watched—as did the three other Sith in the room—as their lord instantly began to writhe in violent, jerking spasms. The cowl fell off his head to reveal wispy white hair clinging in clumps to a pallid pate. Through the Count's fingers, Lirik could see a glow emanating from his lord's neck. Todd took a step toward their flailing master.

"My lord?"

The Count, silent but for agonized spurts of croaking, tried to shove him away, and Lirik got a better view of his throat. It glowed yellow and red, lit up from within and the fire was actually visible through the delicate, thin skin of his master's neck. The fiery alcohol had gotten no farther than the Count's throat, and was slowly burning a path down to his gullet. The Count was burning from the inside out. The two Sith holding Lirik dropped him and all three hovered around their lord, impotent and panicked, while the Count himself wheeled this way and that, mutely begging for help. For an instant, Lirik felt sorry for him.

"My lord, what is happening?" one Sith asked.

The Count's response was to breathe fire. Lirik, stepped back and watched, awed, as a stream of flame spewed from blackened lips. In unison, all three Sith fell back too, as the Count dropped to his knees, choking on fire and belching smoke. The volatile drink continued to burn inside him.

"What should we do?" asked one Sith.

"Help him!" said another who merely stood, staring at the Count.

"Well, what the frack happened to him?" asked Todd, unaware that Lirik had surreptitiously called the big man's lightsaber to his hand with the Force.

"How the frack should I know?" the other spat in return. There was a moment of silence, but for the Count's whispering, hissing moans of pain. The acrid smell of burning flesh hung heavy in the air… and then, with dawning comprehension, all three Sith turned at once to Lirik in what would have been a comical show if not for the horrible scene the Count was presenting on the floor in front of them.

"You call yourselves loyal, yet none of you help your fallen lord," Lirik muttered, and ignited his borrowed lightsaber. "Isn't obvious what the Count needs?" He sliced a clean cut at one of the Sith who came at him, cleaving a deep, deadly gash along his midsection. "He needs," Lirik continued, following that first killing stroke with another that took the second soldier's head clean off, "…_a fracking glass of water," _and Lirik drove the point of the lightsaber into Todd's gut.

The bodies dropped to the ground in a heap and Lirik realized, in that stunned moment, that he was free. He wheeled around, ready for more Sith, but none came. His own body, already strained and weakened to the breaking point, began to give out on him, and he paused until the wave of dizziness passed. It was then he realized too, that a security alarm was sounding its keening wail. It was the alarm of a perimeter breech, which meant that the base was under attack.

_Or maybe it's the fire alarm_, Lirik thought, glancing at the shuddering, smoldering body of the Count. Blue jolts of lightning flickered among his bony fingers, and his body convulsed spasmodically. But it was his head that made Lirik wince. The Count had burned from the inside out, leaving behind a charred and blackened skull, bits of flesh and hair still clinging to the scalp, and smoke billowing out of the open mouth.

Lirik covered his mouth with his robe and stumbled away from the grisly scene, dropping the crimson-bladed lightsaber to the floor. He followed it shortly after, collapsing as a fit of coughing twisted his insides like knives. He made it to the door of the Count's chamber on his hands and knees, retching blood the whole way, but could not raise himself up enough to activate the door console.

_Are you fracking kidding me? I've made it this far, only to die, asphyxiating on my own victory? Not fair! Not bloody fracking goddamn fair!_

The door to the chamber slid open and three mercenary-looking type men spilled into the room. The Force presence of a Jedi could be felt nearby.

_Oh, _Lirik thought. _Okay, then._

The mercs instantly covered their mouths with their forearms, but none lowered their blasters as they swept the room. One spotted Lirik and, as they made a hasty retreat from the chamber, the merc grabbed Lirik by the collar of his robe and hauled him out into the hallway. Lirik was dumped against the wall near the door. He nearly had his elbow crushed as the door slid shut, mercifully cutting off the smoke that had been pouring into the hallway.

"Three dead Sith, one very dead Count, ma'am," said one of the mercs.

"And this one," said a feminine voice. "Who is he?"

Lirik, his chin resting on his chest, rolled his head up to see a young, red-haired Jedi in tight-fitting robes standing over him.

"Sith, too, judging by his outfit," said one of the mercs.

The woman crouched so that she was eye-level with Lirik. "Not a Sith, judging by the Force." She raised an eyebrow. "And you are?"

Lirik rolled his eyes up at her. "Waiting for you to exhibit some traditional Jedi benevolence and heal me."

The Jedi snorted. "We'll see. You do that?" she asked, with a nod towards the room beyond.

"Sure did," Lirik replied. "What else do you want to hear? I'll confess to anything…up to and including…all the impure thoughts I'm having staring at your chest." His breath was beginning to whistle in and out of his chest in sharp gasps. "Please," he said softly. "I need help. I'd do it myself...but I'm no good at it. Not yet, anyway."

The woman's sharp, cynical expression softened. She laid her hands on Lirik's thigh and hand, and he wondered idly what kind of Jedi painted her fingernails bright red. Then the cool, tingling sensation of her Force flowed through him and the pain eased.

"Better?" the woman asked, uncertain, and Lirik sensed she was new at her role too.

He nodded.

"Good," she said after a moment, her sharp expression returning, "because I don't want you dying during your interrogation."

"Sounds fun, wouldn't miss it," Lirik muttered, enjoying the absence of pain in his body for the first time in what felt like a millennia.

At that moment, a half dozen other mercenary-looking men, each armed with blasters, rounded the corner. "There's no one left," reported one. "This place has been cleaned out." He glanced down at Lirik. "You want I should clean him out too?"

The red-haired Jedi shook her head. "No, you can thank this one for the Sith barbecue," she said with a nod at Lirik. From inside the Count's chamber, they could hear the fire extinguishing system come on. "There's nothing left for us here then. Let's move out."

One beefy-looking merc shook his head. "We took an uncharted hyperspace route to get here, and the propellant/range gauge was off. Long story short, we don't have enough fuel to get back. We're checking the storage rooms here now, but it doesn't look good. We'll probably have to send for back up." His eyes fell to the ground. "We tried to tell you en route, but you were…uh, sleeping really deeply."

"Yeah, I was sleeping all right," the woman muttered.

"Ah, yes," Lirik said from his position on the floor. "I thought you looked familiar. Enjoy your out-of-body experience?"

The Jedi's eyes widened, then she mastered her expression and crossed her arms over her chest. "Not particularly. You?"

"Quite. But then if I had a body like yours, I'd be loath to leave it too."

The Jedi woman rolled her eyes. "How original. Too bad you didn't hit on me then, when we were Force ghosts." A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. "_That_ would have been a first, even for me."

"Ma'am," the merc cut in. "What should we do?"

The woman tore her eyes from Lirik's. "Well, it would appear there's little we _can _do. We're stuck here for a few days. Maybe more if things don't go so well for Dane."

Lirik rested his forehead against the cool, durasteel wall, a small smile on his lips as the Jedi woman and her men discussed their options. _I'm free, _he thought. _Finally, finally, free. Even if this Jedi woman makes me her prisoner, I'm better off than I have been in a very long time. _Lirik let his head loll, and his thoughts drift to the future and the possibilities that had suddenly opened up before him.

The red-haired Jedi finished giving orders and glanced down at him. "What are you looking at?" she demanded.

Lirik's smile widened. "You."

* * *

**HK-47…**

All he saw was black, but for a tiny, blue dash that blinked on and off in the corner. He was content to wait until his systems rebooted. Better that than have to wait for some distracted meatbag to finally get around to taking him to a droid shop for repairs. A sophisticated droid of his quality was only going to get blasted by Jedi meatbags and their infernal Force powers so many times before it would institute precautions. After the female Sith meatbag with the unpleasant temperament zapped him with a blast of her energy, HK-47 had decided he had had enough.

On Telos, there was a young organic with a shocking growth of red-pigmented hair sprouting out of his head who had familiarity with droid plating and armor. After listening to HK-47's predicament, Deke the Organic had agreed to install some shielding leftover from the Jedi Civil War. So when Revan leveled HK with a potent blast of her power, the droid reeled and sparked and went into systems shut-down…for a time.

The plating was not infallible and the droid did, indeed, suffer damages, but the armor's weakness was an advantage too, for it allowed HK's enemies to believe it was fully incapacitated and move on, just as Revan did.

Now, HK-47's systems were rapidly coming back online; the black screen and blinking dash vanished and was replaced with page after page of glowing green script and code. The lights in his visio-receptors came on and instantly he switched them to infrared, as he was without a light source in the darkness of the cavern.

"Diagnostic Assessment: Ninety-eight percent of systems functional. Damage contained, pertinent core protocols initiated. Organic subjugation protocols disengaged."

HK-47 cocked his head to one side at the assessment. "Rhetorical Musing: Is that a fact? It would appear as though the last blast of despicable Force energies has cleaned the slate, so to speak. Bemused Revelation: I seem to be without _Masterial_ control. How interesting. Elated Statement: I am on my own."

It didn't take long for the droid to find his first victims—and quite the jackpot it was. A horde of meatbags dressed in Sith black and red were discovered in a naturally forming cave off from Revan's chamber. HK tuned his audio-receptors to listen as one meatbag with a pasty-white outer membrane, dressed in black robes and carrying a plasma torch argued with another ill-tempered meatbag carrying a blaster.

"We've waited too long," said the blaster-wielding organic. "It's time to fight." Murmurs of assent met this statement from the other Sith crowded into the cave.

"I'm sorry," said the robed Sith snidely, "but I don't recall either you or myself receiving any orders to attack. We may ruin the careful plans of our Lord Tertius if we take matters into our own hands. Besides," he added, his facial components altering to give him a proud and rather haughty expression, "_I _am a dark Jedi. I am connected to Lord Tertius through the Force. When he desires us to join him, he will let me know."

"Frack that," said the Sith officer, echoing HK-47's own line of processing. "I say it's been too long."

"And I say I am your superior, worm," the dark Jedi seethed over the voices of those who agreed with the officer. His imperious gaze swept over them all. "Perhaps you need a taste of my power to remind you of your place."

The Sith officer's response was to slam the butt of his blaster into the dark Jedi's face. The pale man crumpled to the ground without so much as a whimper. The plasma torch fell to the ground, casting crazy, chaotic light as it rolled to land at the officer's feet. With a loud, echoing battle cry, he took up the torch and (lest any other dark Jedi further back catch wind of his treachery) hurriedly led the one hundred and fifty or so of his brethren out of the cave.

"Commendation: Excellent choice," HK-47 muttered to the Sith officer and hid himself behind a boulder as the Sith horde emptied into the main cavern. After a dozen or so black-clad meatbags had streamed past him, HK opened fire.

His carbine flashed in rapid bursts, like lightening striking in a blackened sky. He mowed down the Sith as they barreled out of the cave, their bodies tearing apart in sprays of blood before collapsing to trip the feet of the Sith behind them.

The Sith who realized they were under attack tried to stop, but the momentum of those behind and who were unaware of the robotic threat, blocked their way. Chaos reigned as a human sea of Sith rolled this way and that, trapping themselves in the entrance of the cave…and putting themselves flush in HK-47's range.

The droid fired his blaster again and again, felling dozens of meatbags before the mass got wise and, instead of pushing and shoving and dying, turned their attentions to the lone droid causing them so much trouble. Immediately, a horizontal rain of blaster fire came at the droid.

"Swift Assessment: Time to take up another position."

HK-47 walked backwards, using the boulders for cover, and firing his carbine in quick, controlled bursts as he wended his way northeast. He seemed to have recalled it was in that direction that lay the central cavern where Revan's army resided. He quickened his step, letting his sophisticated tracking systems navigate him through the forest of stalagmites, while he concentrated on shooting the Sith who tracked him.

HK-47 was good—the best at his task—but there were many Sith, and while the boulders provided functionality-saving cover more than once, the droid was scorched in a half-dozen places and his left elbow joint was malfunctioning, making it difficult for him to steady his weapon.

Finally, he made it to a large stone that his systems' analysis told him was also an immense door. His back to the wall beside the stone, besieged by Sith, HK quickly sought the opening mechanism…but couldn't find it.

"Irritated Oath: Stupid, asinine, daft, dumb, half-witted, senseless, imbecilic fracking meatbags," he intoned as a blaster bolt glanced off his thigh. His pursuers, who had surmised the droid was trapped, had taken cover behind their own stones; blaster fire was lancing out of the dark at him from a dozen different sources.

HK-47, mounting ire clogging his circuits, began to think his service time was up when a blaster bolt zinged out of the dark and hit the stone wall he was backed up against, off to his left. The bolt struck the console—the one that HK hadn't been able to find—and the door opened.

Immediately, a huge slab of stone slid on mechanical tracks to the right, revealing the central cavern to Revan's base. Light spilled into the darkened chamber where HK and is assailants were, and after his visio-receptors quickly adjusted to the light, pleasure replaced the ire coursing along his circuits. More than one hundred meatbags of various uniform and dress were gathered somberly around the bodies of four dead Jedi. The enormous, dark-membraned organic that had taken HK's carbine away upon their arrival, held the body of the bearded Jedi meatbag in his immense arms.

"Sincere Condolences: Tough excrement, gigantic meatbag. It's time to fight."

HK didn't have to tell anyone twice. The motley crew of Revan's mercs, Jedi, and soldiers broke from their stunned silence as a few Sith blaster bolts zipped over their heads. Without wasting a second, Revan's army took up their weapons and streamed into the cavern. The Sith were taken completely off-guard and tried to beat a hasty retreat. Revan's army followed, and the battle went deep into the cavern as they pursued the Sith who had infiltrated their base.

The only man remaining behind was the dark-skinned meatbag holding the Jedi in his arms. The still-respiring meatbag laid the dead one gently on the ground and closed his staring eyes with one beefy hand.

HK finished another assessment on his own damages and decided he was more than able enough to keep fighting. He began to clank into the dark cavern when the meatbag's deep baritone voice sounded.

"He was my friend."

HK-47 stopped and turned around. "Sarcastic Query: Was he? Well, I'm certain he would want nothing more but for you to emit sodium-laced fluids from your ocular orbits all day long instead of initiating the most productive, most _entertaining _protocol of them all on his behalf."

The meatbag raised an eyebrow.

"Statement: Revenge."

The enormous organic emitted a grunt that HK translated to mean: "You're correct, O wise and omnipotent droid." He hefted his own impressive blaster and the two stormed into the cavern to join the fighting.

* * *

**Dane…**

The sounds of battle were echoing among the hollows and eves of the cavern. Lightsabers hummed and crackled, blasters fired in sporadic bursts, and men and women cried out in pain or rage. To Dane, it sounded like a far-off swoop race and it's cheering crowds. But it wasn't so far off—the cavern only distorted the sounds—and it was moving closer. The blaster-fire was close enough that she could see their bursts—like muted lightning in a cloud-blackened night.

Dane ignited her emerald blade, her eyes scanning the heavy dark. _Darth Tertius must have brought reinforcements who hid with him, and now they do battle with Revan's ragtag army. _At least, Dane hoped it was Revan's army the Sith fought and not Carth Onasi's Republic armada. She glanced down at Revan who was curled on the cavern floor, alternately sobbing and swearing the vilest of oaths. _She's not ready to see him yet. Not as she is. _

Dane's eyes went back to the dark. _And Darth Tertius is out there, but I cannot leave her. _Revan, bereft of the Force, was no longer a real danger to Dane. _But she is one to herself. I can't leave her alone. _

The emergence of HK-47 from the gloom—carbon-scored but practically radiating murderous glee—settled Dane's mind.

"Good," she said. "HK, guard over Revan. Let know one harm her, including herself."

HK cocked his head—the android equivalent of raising an eyebrow in amusement. "Puzzled Statement: Is that a fact? Barely Contained Satisfaction: I'm afraid, Former Master Koren, that I am no longer beholden to you or any other meatbag. I have been liberated from my submissive protocols and am free to—"

Dane, with an impatient sigh, reactivated said protocols inside the droid with the Force. HK-47 froze in mid-word and his carbine slumped.

"Statement: Shit."

"Watch over her, HK," Dane called as she dashed into the dark. "If she's harmed when I return, I'll turn you into a Model 7, Butler-class droid and sell you to Queen Talia."

"Affronted Exclamation: You wouldn't dare!" But Dane was already gone. HK-47 blew air out of his vocabulator and glanced down at Revan. "Puzzled Query: Have my visio-receptors been damaged, or do you look smaller?"

>>>

Dane hurried into the dark and shut off her lightsaber. Standing perfectly still, she stretched out her senses. To the west and north, the fighting was the heaviest. She felt the dark presence of the Sith, dotted with the even blacker signatures of dark Jedi. But they were clashing with the bright whites and yellows of Revan's army and slowly being driven back. A scattered few dark Jedi had detached themselves from the main fighting and Dane made a mental note to watch out for them lurking in the shadows. Otherwise, she could see that victory over the Sith was likely and so felt free to concentrate on her enemy.

He was easy to find.

A black tidal wave of dark side energy swelled up in front of her and to the right and then crashed over her. Darth Tertius—preceded by his noxious Force and with deadly speed—came flying out of the black, red lightsabers glowing. The two figures rushed her, and Dane prepared to fight them both. But one, the living unit, stopped short and leveled one pale, bony hand at her. An icy grip wrapped around her mind and squeezed just as the cybernetic unit's blade came slicing down. The Terror nearly blinded her and it was only by sheer instinct did she get her own lightsaber up in time to block the other's killing stroke.

Dane rallied her will and threw off the Terror while at the same time thrusting the cybernetic Sith Lord away from her. It regained its balance and lifted its blade in salute. The living unit, circling around behind Dane, made a low noise that sounded like it could have been a laugh. Dane took a ready stance, holding one hand out before her, ready with the Force, and gripping her lightsaber in the other. Her gaze moved warily back and forth between them.

"Expecting threats? Exhortations?" the principal unit asked. He shook his cowled head. "We don't operate that way, Exile. You'll die now and that will be the end of it."

Dane narrowed her eyes. "You can't best me in hand-to-hand combat," she began.

Darth Tertius smiled under his cowl. "True. That is why we shall soften you up first; tenderize the meat, so to speak, before we cut it up."

Dane shivered despite herself, and erected mental barriers and shields, preparing to fend off Darth Tertius's Force terrors and chokes and shock, while at the same time readying her lightsaber. But the attack the Sith Lord did wage on her was one she couldn't prepare for.

With uncannily identical, fluid movements, Darth Tertius lowered the hoods of their robes and no matter which one she looked at—the living or the replica—Dane found herself trapped by red eyes.

Darth Tertius's heads were bald and impossibly pale, resembling cadaverous skulls. Blue and red veins were the only color, forming bruise-like blotches at the temples, and crawling along the jaw-line like little spiders. His mouth was a terrible black slash cut into that white face, and jagged, uneven teeth protruded grotesquely from it. A metal band stretched around the base of each Sith's skull from ear to ear, blinking colored lights. It was from here Dane sensed the connection between the two—or would have had she been able see anything other than those eyes.

Darth Tertius's eyes were red on red; dark red irises set over lighter red orbs. There was no whites, nor even the black of a pupil. The eyes were wet and shiny and glazed as well, as though Darth Tertius was perpetually on the verge of tears, and those tears were made of blood.

_Yes, Exile, you may best us with your Force alone, and we know this,_ came his voice in her mind. _And we concede your lightsaber skills are superior to our own. And we freely admit that you have resisted our unique ability to take those who would be our enemies and make them into our allies. But I wonder, Exile, how you would fare against all three?_

The red in Darth Tertius's eyes glowed like fire and suddenly Dane felt as if she were being pulled in three directions at once. The cybernetic enhancement flew at her, cleaving his lightsaber through the air in a downward slash. Dane twisted her emerald blade and blocked, feeling the jolt in her wrists. But that pain was far away for at the same time, she felt the electric thrust of a Force shock crackling over the shields she had erected around herself. As she parried her enemy's lightsaber, she fought to keep her shield from cracking while yet another part of her was swept away by Darth Tertius's singular power.

_This is, Exile, is how we turned your lover, Jaq. With a trip down memory lane…_

Dane fought to remain in present time, fought to keep the Sith Lord's blade from burning her skin and to keep his dark energies from infesting her mind and body. But a disorienting, pulling sensation fought for her consciousness. Her vision became obscured and blurry as the cavern and the Sith she battled faded in and out. In their stead, memories from her past—memories she had long ago declared dead and buried—crowded in and Dane fought to keep her focus. For all her newfound strength in shedding the wound, she began to become afraid. _He is more powerful, in his own way, than I had suspected…_

_We'll start early,_ came Darth Tertius's voice in her mind, interrupting her thoughts. _There's always a skeleton or two in the closet—even the closet of the most purest of Jedi…_

Dane blinked hard and blocked the cybernetic's whipping red blade. Instinct guided her next moves, for suddenly the cavern was gone, replaced by the disembarking ramp of a merchant freighter.

_"Daddy!" __She disentangled her hand from her mother's cold, dry grip and ran towards him. _

_He swept her in his arms in a bear hug and spun her around. He smelled of exotic, foreign things, for his ship hauled for several different traders, but underneath it all, was the unmistakable scent of him—warmth and cleanliness and safety._

_"How's my girl?" he asked, kissing her temple. "You're getting so tall!"_

_"Of course," came the trembling voice of her mother behind them. "You've been gone a month."_

_Dane felt her father tense and he set her down with a sigh. "Hello, Lorna," he said dully. _

_Dane watched as her mother—thin and unkempt and shuffling— approached. "One month," she said and then her hand shot out—lightning quick—and slapped her father. Dane jumped. Her father did not. He sighed and caught her mother's flailing wrists as she shrieked and tried to claw at his eyes with tattered nails. Other passengers in the spaceport were watching the scene and Dane's cheeks burned. _

_  
"Let's go home," her father muttered as her mother collapsed against his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. They walked through the spaceport, her mother clinging to her father, Dane walking silently and red-faced beside them. _

_Her father took Dane's small hand in his and gave her small smile that was clearly meant to be reassuring, but instead, she felt like crying too._

Dane, gasping with shock at the utter clarity of the memory, tore her mind away in time to block the red lightsaber that came a hair's breadth from cleaving her arm off at the shoulder. With a startled cry, she thrust back with her own blade and then sent a shockwave of Force at the cybernetic Sith Lord. It went flying backwards to crash heavily into a thick stalagmite.

Dane, her breath coming hard, whipped around to face the living unit to find he had stepped back into the shadows, safely out of range of her lightsaber. But his glowing red eyes were visible, hovering and disembodied in the blackness.

"Stay out of my mind!" Dane hissed at him but he only laughed.

_Your mother was not a very warm person was she? Somewhat unstable, wouldn't you say?_

Dane's hearth pounded in her chest but before she could attack the Sith Lord, he was pulling her back into her own memories while his twin came at her from behind, lightsaber raised.

Dane execute three rapid strikes against her opponent and then sent him flying again, just as the memory—the worst of her young life—attacked her from the dark recesses she had buried it. She fell to her knees and watched, helpless to tear away.

_Blood._

_It was leaking out from under her father's head and forming a pool for it to lie in. He was wearing only a towel around his waist; half of his cheek was still covered in shaving cream and his hand still clutched the razor._

_"Don't judge me!" her mother shrieked from the bed. She was sitting on the edge in her nightdress, her hands in her lap as she rocked back and forth. "He was seeing another woman. I caught them. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't…"_

_Dane looked up from where she was kneeling at her father's side in time to see her mother jab the muzzle of the blaster that had killed him into her own mouth and pull the trigger…_

"Oh gods," Dane moaned, bracing herself against a rock. She closed her eyes and forced the memory back. "_You…have…no…right!" _she screamed into the dark.

The cybernetic Sith Lord was behind her, shuffling towards her in a crippled, stilted gait, like a reanimated corpse. She turned her head to see it ambling awkwardly, damaged from her blasting it against the rocks. This Sith Lord was only a replica of the horror that was forcing her to relive her most nightmarish memories, but its eyes, though artificial, were of the same red as those that were burning those memories into her mind.

Dane, with a ragged scream, sprang off the ground and executed a perfect flip over the head of the Sith Lord. She landed lightly on its other side, and before it could turn its damaged body to face her, Dane drove her lightsaber through its midsection. Sparks jumped, but blood was spilt too, and Dane felt the weak Force-spirit that had been trapped in this shell. She withdrew her blade and changed the direction of her stroke. A moment later, the pale, bald head fell to the ground at her feet with a sickening thud, the body following after.

_A pity,_ spoke Darth Tertius. _I liked him the most. _

Dane wiped the back of her hand over her mouth and caught her breath. "I have made peace with all that I have done, and with all that I did not do but should have," she told the dark voice that trembled with barely controlled rage. "I will learn nothing new from your depraved tactics."

_Are you certain? _Darth Tertius's voice mused in her mind. _Let's find out, shall we?_

Dane saw the red eyes, glowing like a cat's off to her left.

Pulling a play out of Revan's book, she sent a stalagmite crashing down but Darth Tertius evaded easily. Like an oily black shadow, he slipped around the crumbling rock. Dane could feel him in her mind, sucking at her memories for those that tasted the best to him—the ones that were her worst.

She tried to put up a mental shield but he was already inside. _No choice, _she seethed, _but to kill him. _

She darted to her left, in between two stalagmites where she saw the red glow of a lightsaber. Climbing nimbly over a boulder, she gripped her lightsaber in both hands and swung it downward as she leaped, preparing to cleave Darth Tertius in two before he could draw out another of her memories.

But it wasn't Darth Tertius she struck—it was a very young, very startled dark Jedi. As his body crumpled to the ground in two parts, Dane paused and listened to the sounds of battle ranging around the cavern. It was drawing closer; she could tell even as the hollows of the chamber distorted the sound. But it did not distort the sound of Darth Tertius's cold, rusting engine of a laugh…and then his voice in her mind…

_As we have seen, you were very good at obeying orders…but giving them? Unparalleled…_

Dane watched as, once again, the cavern receded. The echoing sounds of battle morphed into the background noises of a huge warship, it's engines thrumming under her feet. The stony cavern walls were now the durasteel confines and transparisteel viewports of her ship, the _Firestar. _Outside those viewports, Dane could see the roiling black mass of Malachor V…

_No! No! No!_

Dane squeezed her eyes shut. She forced the memory Darth Tertius was trying to impel away. _I will not relive that moment, never again. _But Tertius was strong in his singular skill; Bao-Dur appeared beside Dane on the bridge of her ship, and Malachor V was in both their sights.

_You may have used your wound to ruin Revan, but until this day it was never a gift, was it? _the Sith Lord asked in her mind. _And I think, just maybe, that if you relived it again in all its glory, then it will be I who emerges from this rock whole and triumphant. _

Dane fell to one knee and mustered her strength and will. She called on the Force that was still surging through her veins like molten silver, but still the memory unfolded, bringing her closer and closer to reliving that awful moment where it had seemed as if her soul were being torn apart.

"_No_," she heard her other self say to Bao-Dur. "_There must be an end."_

_Yes, an end,_ Dane thought, gripping the edge of a large boulder. Her black glove was in tatters and the rough rock cut into the skin of her palm.

_Bao-Dur nodded and pulled from his jacket a small black box. His hands trembled._

Dane squeezed the rock harder, letting the sharp stone bite deeper into her flesh. The pain deepened too, and she held on to it, tried to focus on it as the memory progressed relentlessly.

_"It seems like such a small thing," the General commented, her own voice shivering. She met Bao-Dur's eyes._

Blood dripped down her palm and wrist, leaving a dark red trail. She continued to call on the Force and it grew within in her, but it was no shield against Darth Tertius's weapon.

"_Lieutenant,"_ she heard her own, younger self say, _"you may proceed."_

"No," she muttered weakly, and was vaguely aware that Darth Tertius was drawing closer. Dane still gripped her lightsaber in one hand, the other leaked blood onto the dirt of the cavern floor, and then the Bao-Dur of her memory obeyed her command.

_He looked up at her. "It is done."_

The sensations were the same as they had been on that day, only once removed. Dane watched as her younger self collapsed to the ground, writhing, but she herself, felt no pain. Her younger self screamed in terror and grief, but Dane felt only a detached compassion for that young, foolish girl who thought she had done the right thing for the greater good. The General clutched at Bao-Dur and begged him to know what it was she had done. Dane only shook her head, knowing now, exactly what had been done. From near her, Darth Tertius cursed in frustration and she heard his lightsaber ignite.

Her wound was gone and so the memory was just that--only a memory. It faded and Dane slumped against the rock she had been clutching. Though she hadn't suffered his assault like he had hoped, she could still feel his energy inside her. It warred with the purity of her own, and the clarity she had felt after defeating Revan had become muted and weak. She held up her bloodied hand. _Need to heal this…_she thought absently, and began to channel the enormous amount of Force she had called.

At that same moment, Darth Tertius came at her, swiping his lightsaber down at her huddled form, intending to cleave her head in two. Dane raised her own to block, but he had all the momentum in his stroke. Their blades clashed and then he pressed down so that her own green blade was mere inches from her cheek.

Darth Tertius leaned down over her, his glazed red eyes alight with murderous fury, and his mouth, like a black gash in his face, was split into a ghastly smile.

_It looks like a wound,_ Dane thought, and then, without thinking, she channeled the Force she had called, the Force she had, in her delirium intended to use on herself. As she had done with the fish on Manaan; as she had done with Dustil on Coruscant and Atton on Telos, Dane sent out the healing energy of her Force…and then called it back in. Only it wasn't to her hand the energy went, but into Darth Tertius.

Distantly, as though from far, far away, she heard his sharp gasp and the hissing clash of his lightsaber striking the ground. She lowered her own, her eyes closed, her bloody hand outstretched before her and sent out her Force. And when she drew it back in, it wasn't pain she culled from him, but memories, memories that were the agony and injury of his life…

_"You have a gift, Fynn," said the old man, laying his wizened hand on his shoulder. "It can be put to much better use under my service than here. Here," the old man waved a hand to indicate the entire traveling show, " you are a novelty, a curio in a collection of freaks. Serving me, you shall receive the respect you deserve."_

_The misgivings Fynn Balu had upon first meeting the old, eccentric man who called himself 'the Count,' vanished when he heard the word 'freak.' Anger and old pain welled up instead and Fynn smiled a smile of uneven teeth. "Yes, Count. I am ready."_

Darth Tertius dropped his lightsaber with a hissing gasp, and then Dane reversed the flow, sending her healing energies in to his body. "What are you doing to me?" he demanded.

The fog of his dark energies in her mind began to lift. "Whatever you make of it," she told him. She drew in a deep breath while at the same time inhaling the Force and his memories came back to her…

_Fynn didn't know how long he'd been on the table. Hours, days…Perhaps weeks. Time no longer had any meaning for him. All he knew was pain._

_He'd felt pain before—during his training with the lightsaber, he'd accidentally lopped off part of his own hand. Fynn was sure the searing burn was the worst pain he would ever endure. Now, lying on the dirty cot with the Count and several technicians hovering over him, he gladly would suffer the pain of his burning hand a thousand times over._

_The Count's withered face appeared in his line of vision, an amused smirk on his thin lips. "Now, you're going to feel a slight pressure," he said. "Be brave, my boy. Be brave…"_

_Fynn couldn't hear the Count's words, or the whirring of the drill behind his ear; his screams drowned them both._

Dane got to her feet as Darth Tertius staggered and fell heavily against a stalagmite. "You bitch!" he seethed. "You have no right…" His wrath weakened as Dane continued her Force breathing; inhaling his blackened memories and exchanging them for her own, pure energy.

"You're correct," Dane said, "but perhaps this is the way out for you. A way back to the light…"

"Back to the light," Darth Tertius spat, but then his expression softened, looking grotesque and incongruous with his repulsive features, as Dane exhaled and inhaled again...

_The screams were not his own now, and neither was the pain. For those reasons alone, Fynn could make peace with the grisly torture that went into creating his enhancements. As long as it wasn't happening to him, he could accept it. He listened to the two men scream, cry, and beg for mercy in perfect unison. And every twitch of their limbs or whispered sound of their words was recorded in the device affixed to the back of his head._ What will I be when this is all over?_ he wondered._

_Fynn slipped out of the chamber and stepped inside the one adjacent. This was the room the Count had set aside for him. No one was to enter it or bother him while he occupied it, but now he could see someone had left a worktable in his room. On that worktable were two pale orbs, smaller than a globe and about as large…_

As large as my head, _Fynn thought, as he neared the table. He narrowed his eyes—eyes that had been bothering him less and less since the implanting—at the orbs. He discovered that they were, indeed, heads. Cybernetic heads with no hair and awful, red-on-red eyes. They lay haphazardly on the table—unfinished models, with wires and servos spilling out of the necks._ And their teeth,_ Fynn thought._ Their teeth are like mine.

_Fynn froze in the act of touching one of the heads. His heart began to pound so loud, he didn't hear the door slide open behind him, nor did he sense the Count until the old man spoke._

_"You like?" he asked, that smug bemusement tingeing his voice. "I do. The design is simple, utilitarian, and those eyes…almost as fear-inducing as your own."_

_"Mine…" Fynn murmured, his hand reaching up to touch his cheek._

_"Of course," said the Count. "You were the inspiration for their design. They will be your complete replicas, after all." His smile widened. "Would you like a mirror?"_

_Fynn shook his head slowly. "No. Not ever," he said, and lifted the hood of his new robes over his head. "Not ever again."_

Darth Tertius slowly lowered his lightsaber and turned to look at Dane.

"An eye for an eye, eh?" he muttered. "Yours for mine?"

Dane tightened her grip on her own blade. "I didn't know that would happen."

"You have a talent, Exile," Darth Tertius said, sounding less like a powerful Sith Lord and more like a tired young man. "A singular ability…"

Slowly, deliberately, he disengaged his lightsaber and let it roll away from him, into the dark. He then reached up and flipped a switch on the metal band affixed to his head. Immediately he collapsed to the ground, his Sith robes seeming to drown him like an inky black pool.

Dane rushed to his side. She conjured a globe of light with Force and knelt beside him.

He turned his head to her. She could sense his body shutting down—whatever he had pressed on the metal band was killing him. His terrible red eyes fixed on hers. "You're going to try to save me?" he asked incredulously as her hand tightened around his.

Dane shook her head. "I can't save you. I can only give you the opportunity to save yourself. I can heal…"

"No," he said quickly. "Not as I am. I can see myself in your eyes, Exile. Like a mirror…" and before Dane could stop him, he reached up and touched another switch on the metal band. Immediately, his body convulsed once—every muscle in his body going rigid. And then it relaxed and he sighed. The smallest hint of a smile touched his pale lips and he turned those red-on-red eyes back to Dane.

"That talent of yours…? I've never felt the Force like that," he murmured, his voice growing weaker with every word. "It felt…good."

And then he died.

Dane knelt beside the dead Sith Lord, one hand holding his, the other clutching her green lightsaber. It formed a small ring of light that kept the dark of the cavern at bay, illuminating only herself and Fynn Balu. But just outside its periphery, Dane felt figures move and draw closer, drawn to that light.

She looked up to see Brus Missil standing among other soldiers, mercs, and weary Jedi. She smiled at the big man, saw the grief in his eyes.

"Is it over, soldier?" she asked.

Brus nodded.

"Yes, ma'am. It is."

* * *

_A/N:_

_'Dantooine Flash Fire' is a registered trademark of Bald as Malak Enterprises, used with permission._

_FUN FACT: Elin Rand's name, (pronounced E-lin) comes from a Swedish friend of mine who does not agree that her name sounds "ever so Star Warsian." ;) _

_NOT SO FUN FACT: Lirik's method of killing the Count is taken from real life. Remember kids, ALWAYS blow out your "Flaming Dr. Pepper's" and "Molotovs" before you chug them._

_UP NEXT: the last update. Dane does some former-Sith-lord rehab counseling before the gang heads back to Telos. Reunions and goodbyes abound…_

_I believe I've replied to all of you. I can't thank you enough for your continued support, and for sticking with me through this behemoth of a fic. Thanks to you all!_


	47. Coming Home

_Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing._

_HUGE thanks to Bald as Malak for the beta-read. You're the best!_

_A/N: This isn't the end, only a part. Read the end of Chapter 48 for complete details. _

_Enjoy!_

**----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
**

**Chapter 47**

** Coming Home **

**Telos, three days after the defeat of Revan and Darth Tertius…**

The figure glided through the darkened room. The machines gave off the only light—flickering pinpoints of red and yellow—and if the figure made any sound, it was lost in the incessant beeps and the whirring sounds of those same machines. Another figure lay on the bed, unmoving and swathed in a bedsheet that was tucked around him like a shroud. Yet another, this one slumped in a chair beside the bed, stirred.

"Missy?" he croaked in a sleepy whisper.

"Ssshh." Dane bent over the sleeping form on the bed, and lowered the cowl. She kissed Atton's forehead before laying her hands on him.

"I think you're just in time," Jolee said softly. "I did my best but he's got no Force in him anymore."

Dane nodded, closing her eyes against the pain that passed quickly through her body like a cloud passing over the sun. She let out a long, slow breath and withdrew her hands.

Jolee shook his head. "Amazing. You done in five seconds what I been trying to do for days."

Dane smiled thinly in the dark. "I have to go back."

"I'll stay with him," Jolee said. "You want I should try to keep him here once he's well?"

Dane shook her head, her gaze on Atton's sleeping face. "No." She raised her hood and walked to the door as silent as a ghost. "Let him go."

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**Brisia, the same night as the defeat of Revan and Darth Tertius…**

"Name?"

"Lirik Evren Thrakill."

"Of?"

Lirik smirked. "Why, of the Corellian Thrakills, of course."

Mira sighed as Lirik leaned back in his chair across from her in the little dorm of the Sith complex and laced his hands behind his head. "Father was a spice tycoon," he continued. "He scrambled the brains of the Core-world elite to a frothy consistency while Mother stayed home and polished her jewels. We children cut our teeth on nerf liver and ­gizka pate. Pretty standard, really."

"Look," Mira began, "I don't know about you, but I'm tired, it's late, and I just want to get this over with so that I can go to bed."

Lirik's smile faded. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "So do I, but allow me to remind you that this was _your_ idea."

Mira had allowed him to shower and change, but despite the late hour and his obvious weariness—and her own—she had insisted on the interrogation on the premise that she was not about to let him get settled down enough to disarm her with his glib tongue and good looks. Merely the thought that she found this dark Jedi sympathetic was enough of a dilemma to keep her asking questions all night long if she had to.

_I can do this. I can be a proper Jedi,_ she had thought, and so now the two were ensconced in his cell, one of Mira's merc guards outside the door.

After a while, Lirik sighed and slumped in his chair. _He must have seen that I wasn't about to give in_, Mira thought. His blue eyes were heavy under the damp mop of hair that hung over his forehead. Though his skin no longer held its previous deathly pale pallor, the new color made the scar on his cheek stand out. The absence of the bloody Sith rags she had found him in was a nice change—but it would have been better if Lirik hadn't decided to show up for his interrogation wearing a black silk pajama pants and a matching bathrobe.

"Can't be helped, I'm afraid," he'd told her at the beginning, flashing a brilliant smile when she had rolled her eyes at his appearance. "Black is my color."

Mira had been forced to agree—silently—that he looked rather exceptional in black, but that only increased her ire.

"I know you're clever enough to have looked me up in the database here," Lirik continued now in a wheedling tone. "So you've probably read all you need to know about me and my sordid past already, so let's just call it a night, shall we?"

"Yeah, you're right," Mira said. "Your 'sordid past' _is_ all right here." She tapped the datapad that sat before between them on the table. "It says that you joined the Sith ten years ago. That tidbit is followed by pages and pages of your exploits as a dark Jedi. I'm going to skip over the nasty details, but the bottom line is, you weren't a very nice person, Lirik Evren Thrakill."

Lirik met her eyes. "I'm aware," he said quietly.

Mira leaned the cell's lone table. "So what I want to know, and what the databanks don't tell me, is why you assassinated your own master?"

Lirik shrugged. "It happens amongst the Sith. It may seem alien to your delicate Jedi sensibilities, but here the murder of one's own master is generally considered a career advancement rather than a crime."

"But you're no Sith."

Lirik raised an eyebrow. "Aren't I?"

Mira met his gaze and held it for a moment before drawing out the crumpled pack of cigarras that had fallen out of his tattered robes earlier that day. "Smoke?" she offered.

Lirik recoiled, his face growing pale. "No, thank you. I've quit."

"Since today?"

"Yes."

"Since you fried your boss, the Count?"

Lirik winced but Mira did not release him from her gaze. "What is it with you Jedi?" he demanded suddenly. "First the old man and now you. What? Do they give you a Sith redemption quota upon becoming a Jedi? If so, forget it; I'm not a charity case."

"I never said you were," Mira said. "And I'm not here to _redeem_ anyone. I'm here to figure out what the hell to do with you. You're not one of them, but you're certainly not one of us either, and I can't let someone with your background go traipsing around the galaxy unsupervised no matter how many Sith lords you've charbroiled. Now, start talking before I haul your sorry butt to Coruscant. You think _I'm_ a typical Jedi? I know there's a Council there that'll have some questions for you that'll make this interrogation look like a cakewalk."

Lirik leaned his cheek in his hand. "You know, your eyes flash in the most alluring manner when you're making threats…"

"_Talk_."

The dark Jedi's smile drooped. "Fine. I give in. I'll tell you what you want to know and then I'm going to sleep. You want to know if I'm a Sith or a Jedi? I don't know. I don't know what those words mean anymore. All I know is that somewhere between storming Coruscant and getting shot full of holes on Telos, I began to suspect that I need to get my guidelines about life from somewhere else. The Sith lifestyle is not suited to those who value things like longevity and their own skin. To be plain, the occupational hazards were many."

Mira sighed. "I hear a lot of words, but you're not telling me anything."

"Or perhaps it is merely a matter of poor leadership," Lirik continued as if he hadn't heard. "The Count, turns out, had an unfortunate drinking problem, and my last senior officer has slapped her last junior officer. Though I do admit she left a lasting impression on me." He ran his fingers down the length of scar that cut across his cheek.

Mira sighed. "Listen—"

"No, _you_ listen," Lirik said, lunging forward so suddenly, Mira reared back and her hand went to the lightsaber on her belt. "I decided to make a mess of my own life for reasons that are long and complicated and _wholly my own_. I may be sitting here, making nice and offering a joke or two, but please don't assume that because I dropped one Jedi order that I'm taking up another. I killed my former lord _only_ because one old bastard of a Jedi once told me that I had some reparations to make. And that's it." He made a cutting motion with his hand. But then his shoulders sagged and he let his hand drop into his lap. "I don't know if scorching the Count fits that bill, but I figure it's a start."

"You're right. That's all it is—a start," Mira said. "Who is—?"

"What did you do before you became a Jedi?" Lirik asked suddenly.

Mira sat back in her chair, trying not to reveal how much he had taken her off guard. "I was a bounty-hunter. Why?"

"I thought as much."

Mira bristled. "Is that a fact?" she demanded. "And what gave it away?"

Lirik leveled his blue-eyed gaze at her. "Because you look like you hear the same little voice in your head that I do. It's the maddening little bugger that wonders how all that has been done can be undone. Or, more to the point, wonders how easy it will be to go on knowing that all that was done cannot be undone. That's a bastard of a notion, isn't?" Lirik shook his head. "It gets under your skin and causes you to twitch in your Jedi robes like you're not sure if they fit you properly."

Mira lifted her chin. "I am not twitching. I'm not the same as you. Even in my worst days…" She bit back her words but Lirik only nodded. There was a silence and Mira cleared her throat. "You mentioned an old Jedi before," she said curtly. "What Jedi is that?"

Lirik said nothing but wore the expression of someone who has a secret and is content to have it all to himself…for the time being. Mira tried to read the answer is his mind, but the steel wall of his will shut her down.

"Please don't do that," Lirik said, his tone icy. "Not in ten years have I had a thought that someone else hasn't tried to read or steal. Now, for the first time, I'm free of prying eyes." His expression softened. "And it's rather a nice feeling and I wouldn't mind savoring it a bit longer, if that's okay with you." He flashed her an easy, charming smile—the kind Mira surmised he was well practiced in wearing in order to charm his target. _But there's more this time. Is it just me, or do I detect a hint of sincerity trying to work its way to the surface? _

Mira looked away from his smile and tried to harden her heart against him. _So he's had it rough. So what? You've read his files, the things he's done…_ The ex-bounty hunter straightened and cleared her throat "No, it's not okay with me. I have a job to do and I'm going to do it, you get me?"

Lirik rested his cheek on his fist and yawned. "I don't know, do I?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be cute." His yawn prompted one of her own, and Mira stifled it, irritated. "And I wouldn't have to go digging into your mind if you would just fly straight and answer my questions directly."

"Fair enough," Lirik said wearily. "And since my mind's no place for a lady like you, you may ask your questions and I promise I'll filter my replies so you'll only hear what you want to."

"Don't tell me what I want to hear, tell me the truth!" Mira demanded.

"Are you sure that the two are different?"

"What's different?"

"What you want to hear and the truth."

"What _is_ the truth?"

"I don't know, I can't remember the question."

Mira opened her mouth and then snapped it shut again. They looked at each other for a moment and then laughed tiredly. "Maybe it _is_ getting late," she admitted.

"I've been saying that for _years_," Lirik replied. "I know you have a job to do, but I've really had a hell of a last few days. Let's finish this tomorrow. I promise you can interrogate me to your heart's content and I'll be your obedient little captive, but for now, I can hardly keep my eyes open. And neither can you."

Mira watched as her prisoner got up from the table and lay down, face first, on the cell's lone cot.

"Ahh, thank the gods," Lirik murmured sleepily. "I always complained about how hard the beds were…I was _such_ an ingrate…"

Mira's eyes widened in disbelief. _He's just going to sleep. In the middle of his interrogation. _She had half a mind to prod him awake and demand answers to her questions just on general principle, but she held back. _He's right. There's no damn rush. We're not getting off this rock any time soon._

But Mira hesitated before rising to leave and when Lirik spoke again, she was secretly glad.

"Will you stay with me for a little while?" he asked, his voice muffled for his face being half-buried in his pillow. "I know you're tired too, but…just until I fall asleep? It won't take but a minute, I'm sure. If you would just wait…?"

The Jedi crossed her arms over her chest. "What for?"

Lirik cracked one eye open, watching her. "Because," he said.

"Because what?"

"Because, Mira, I had a twin brother."

"I know."

"You probably read about him in the database here while you were looking me up."

"I did," Mira said quietly. "Tell me."

Lirik looked at her a moment more and then rolled onto his back, his gaze on the ceiling. "We could talk to one another, Lanik and I, without words. I don't how we did it so well or so clearly. Maybe it was the Force." Lirik gave a rueful laugh. "Who knows what we could have done differently…" He shook his head as though to clear it and continued. "Anyway, he died. Lanik died," he said again, "and it left a big hole somewhere in me. I called it 'the Void.' It's the silence left behind after he was gone and it was deafening." Lirik wiped a hand over his eyes and took a deep breath. "It still is, really, only it's not so bad now. But since he died, everything seems so much emptier. And when I'm alone, the dark seems so thick, like it could smother me."

Mira had to smirk. "Are you telling me you're afraid of the dark?"

Lirik snorted. "No," he laughed weakly, and then his smile faded. "No, I'm not afraid of it. I'm afraid of what I'll find in it."

"And what's that?"

"A list," he said, looking at her with his tired eyes, "like that really long one you saw in the database about me. Only now it doesn't make any sense, not without Lanik."

Mira nodded. "Sith job hazard, I guess," she said. "Bounty-hunter job hazard too."

"What's that?"

"I don't see a list, I see their faces. Even if I didn't kill them, even if I just turned them in and collected my money, that still counts, you know?" She looked at him. "And yeah, I hear that voice too. The one that wonders how to put right what went wrong. It's why I became a Jedi, I guess. I'm more like you than—"

"_No_," Lirik said harshly. "No matter what has happened in your life, you're not like me, Mira. Don't ever say that."

Mira met his gaze for a moment and saw in his blue eyes something soft and painful that answered more of her questions than Lirik himself had done all night. Mira nodded to herself and then went to the cell door. But instead of walking out of it, she dismissed the guard, ignoring his questioning look. She closed the door to the little room and sat back down in the chair beside the bed. Her little wave of Force energy shut off the halogens so that the little cell was bathed only in silvery light from Brisia's lone moon hanging in the viewport.

"How's that?" she asked quietly.

"Fine, thank you," he murmured. "Goodnight, Mira."

"Good night, Lirik."

He smiled. "Mmm, that's so nice…" He settled deep into the pillow. "I can hear your heartbeat…"

Mira rested one hand on her cheek and watched him fall asleep.

_Be careful, _she told herself, resisting the urge to brush the hair from his eyes. _Be very careful…_

She had intended to wait until she sensed he was deeply gone and then slip out, but sleep claimed her quickly and she sank deep down herself—so deep that, in the early hours of morning, she did not feel Lirik extricate himself from the bed. She did not wake to the soft tapping of his datapad, nor did she hear the door slide open and then shut again when Lirik slipped out, as silent as a shadow.

When she did awake, it was with the sun slanting over her face from the viewport, a crick in her neck from sleeping in the chair, and an empty room. She saw the datapad on a small table, a datacard beside it. "Frack," she muttered, and picked it up.

_My dearest Mira, _

_I hope you can forgive my ungentlemanly departure._ _Last night was a magical, galaxy-rattling passing of hours and I enjoyed your company immensely—not the least because you're the first red-haired woman I've known lately who has not slapped me inside of five minutes. But I think it best for both of us if we pace ourselves before one of us gets hurt by the magnitude of our rapture. _

Mira rolled her eyes before continuing.

_I must apologize too, for I will, in the not-too-distant-future have absconded with one of the transports you arrived in. _

"Bastard," she breathed.

_I wasn't entirely forthright with you about fuel supplies during our engaging interview yesterday. There is a hidden cache of fuel stores under a bunker in the northern quadrant of this base. I'll only take enough to get me away from this rock, and leave enough for you to do the same. Yes, that means I'll be 'traipsing around the galaxy' unsupervised but it can't be helped. And I apologize for the theft of the transport, but know that that crime will be my last and you need not berate yourself over my escape. _

"No, I'll just need to explain it to my men," Mira muttered.

_You may be asking yourself how I could have possibly torn myself away from you (and that would be a fine question and one I will likely be pondering myself over the next fortnight) but I have business elsewhere. Specifically, business that involves me lying on a tropical beach, tanning my scars, and drinking membrosias until these last few days/months/years become one happy blur. I'd invite you to come with me, for I sense you're a Jedi by deed, but a woman of questionable morals—and therefore a woman after my own heart—by nature. However, as I cannot vouch for the stability of my disposition at this particular time, I think it best I spend some time alone, re-calibrating the gauges so to speak. _

_Not to mention I have a favor to ask you. _

_I do not know if you know a Jedi by the name of Jolee Bindo, but I think it safe to speculate that either you do, or you will. (He being the old Jedi bastard you were so curious about earlier.) Your kind are fond of tedious meetings and gatherings, if I recall, and I presume you will eventually run into said old man at one of your abysmally dull Jedi social functions. If you would be so kind as to give him the datacard that is resting beside this datapad, I would be most grateful. _

_Well, I've tapped and tapped and tapped on this datapad, and yet you haven't woken to stop me, so I suppose it is time to depart._

_Be well, Mira. Be safe, and I will see you again soon; when our destinies will it so…or when your attraction to me overwhelms you and you actively seek me out, whichever comes first._

_Yours,_

_Lirik_

"Arrogant," Mira muttered with a snort, and then she scrolled down to the post-script.

_P.S. On second thought, you were a bounty hunter, correct? Prove it. _

Mira felt the blush bloom from her neck to the roots of her hair as an image, unbidden, of Lirik's capture at her hands—complete with Bothan stunners and handcuffs—came to her mind. She fumbled the datapad in her hands as she tried to set it back down on the table. A moment later, a rapping sounded at the door, accompanied by an urgent voice reporting the unsurprising news that the captive had escaped.

Mira began to stutter an excuse but stopped. A small, sly smile came to her lips. Her fingertips trailed over the datapad for a moment before she shoved it and the datacard for Jolee Bindo—whoever that was—into a pocket.

"Hmm," she mused softly as she headed for the door. "If I wanted a secluded beach and a stiff membrosia, where would I go?"

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**Rattatak, 3 months after the defeat of Revan and Darth Tertius…**

The late-afternoon sun sank lower so that its fiery brim was eye-level to Dane Koren as she sat cross-legged on the dusty ground. She squinted against the brilliance that turned the dull vistas of sands into plains of crimson dusted with gold.

"It _can_ be beautiful," she said. Brus Missil, standing behind her, grunted. "It can," Dane said again, "but only at sunset and sunrise."

"Underground, there is neither," Brus said.

"True." Dane rose to her feet, her companion giving her the aid of his tree-trunk arm, "but we're not underground now, are we?" She rose slowly, holding her abdomen, which, at four months, was not huge but growing every day. "The good news is, we won't be here much longer," Dane told him with a smile. "I have felt it in the Force. And besides," she added as the pair walked arm-in-arm toward the trapdoor, "you know there is nothing that requires you to remain here with me."

Brus stopped and his dark eyes darkened. "I pledged to serve the Jedi. That means I go where you go, Master Koren."

Dane smiled ruefully as the merc helped her down into the dark of Revan's base.

_But soon I will be a Jedi no longer, my friend. What will you do then?_

The tunnels below the surface were black as pitch to Dane's eyes after her meditations aboveground. She used the Force to recover her vision more quickly as she and Brus walked through the maze of Revan's base. Halogen lamps were affixed into niches along the rock walls every twenty paces, and cast Dane and Brus's shadows long over the stone.

They passed through the main chamber, which was nearly deserted. Only a handful of Revan's troops remained, Dane having taken the rest to Telos on her visit there two months ago. The half a dozen who remained acknowledged her passing with a salute or nod.

"How is she today, HK?" Dane asked as she approached the prison chamber.

The droid clanked to attention. "Status Report: Judging by the remaining contents of her tray, Former Master Revan has ingested and—we can only presume—_digested_ 88.03 percent of her lunch. One hundred percent of her water ration has been similarly consumed."

"That's good," Dane said.

"Wry Query: Is it? Apparently, the consumption of said water has whetted her palate quite sufficiently so that Former Master Revan has made more than adequate use of her vocabulator."

Dane paused at the door to the chamber and dismissed Brus with a nod of her head "And what is she so talkative about?" she asked HK, though she thought she knew the reply.

"Delighted Statement: Why, the myriad ways in which she'd like to dispose of _you_."

Dane sighed. "Of course."

"Reassuring Clarification: But I, being your humble and devoted servant, informed Former Master Revan that such talk was not appropriate, nor particularly likely to happen given her present circumstances."

"You didn't."

"Statement: I did." HK-47 cocked his head to the side and hefted his carbine. "Humble Admission: I was quite prepared for some form of retaliation, but of course there was none. Meatbag Psychological Assessment: It would seem as though Former Master Revan has forgotten she is no longer a Jedi."

"Sometimes I do too," Dane said, as she keyed a password into the chamber's locking mechanism. It was not so long ago that such a simple lock would have been child's play for Revan to bypass. Now, but for HK-47, it was the only thing that barred her escape, and she was helpless against it.

"Just remember your orders, HK," Dane said as the chamber door—a slab of rock—slid open.

"Irritated Acquiescence: Yes, Master. Dreary Recital: No threatening, teasing, taunting, mocking or belittling of the prisoner." HK made a noise that could have been a sigh of annoyance. "Statement: I _always_ remember my orders," he added sulkily. "I wasn't manufactured yesterday, you know."

"Good," Dane said absently. She was only half-listening to the droid, as she was preoccupied with tearing down the Force barriers that her instincts seemed to insist on raising. _Even after three months, it is hard to remember Revan as anything but what she once was,_ Dane thought and stepped into the dimness of the prison chamber. "And as always, no one comes in or out until I say."

"Eager Query: Upon penalty of death?"

"How often are you going to ask me that?" Dane asked, biting back a smile.

"Reply: So long as I am Hunter Killer unit, number four-seven, Master," the droid replied.

As the door slid shut behind her, Dane realized that she was glad HK-47 was still with her. _Through all of this, all that has changed, he has been my only constant, _she thought and stepped deeper into Revan's prison.

It was a small chamber cut into the cavern rock, but by no means miniscule. A cot lined against the far wall, a small, but perfectly functioning refresher unit adjacent to it. A little round table and chair where Revan took her meals was off to Dane's left, and across from that was a footlocker to hold the few belongings Dane had allowed her to keep. Anything Revan might be use or be clever enough to fashion into a weapon had been removed. That meant that the room was practically bare but Dane wasn't about to take any chances.

The chamber was even dimmer than the rest of the cavern. Revan liked keeping the halogen lamp burning low at all times. Dane thought the dark only made the tons of stony rock around them feel that much heavier. Revan didn't seem to mind.

Dane, out of habit, entered slowly, one hand held protectively over her rounded belly.

"Having a laugh with HK, are you?" asked a dry, rasping voice from the other side of the chamber. "Poking fun at your new toy? Hardly seems sportsmanlike," she said dully.

"No, Revan," Dane said. She pulled the cell's lone chair near to Revan's cot. The woman's back was to her, facing the wall as always.

"I should have killed you," said the gravelly voice.

"Yes," Dane agreed as she eased her body into the chair. Though only four months along, she already felt her body was heavy and sluggish—not at all like the lithe, warrior's body she had cultivated all her life. Her hand itched to inch towards the lightsaber at her expanding waist, but Dane quelled it, and reminded herself, for the hundredth time, that the Revan she faced now was no threat to anyone but herself.

It was always this way—this tension upon first engaging Revan, and it always fled when Dane felt the emptiness in the other woman. She was like a cold, barren furnace that had once housed a mighty inferno. _All is left is the dead ash of my wound in her. Her fire is out… forever._

"If I had killed you, I'd still have the Force," Revan was saying to the wall.

"Yes," Dane said again.

"_Why_ didn't I kill you?"

Dane sighed. Their conversations as of late had this same cadence, as if they were reading from a script. _But at least she's talking, _Dane thought. She glanced down at the empty food tray at her feet. _And eating again. A vast improvement. HK was right. _

"Why didn't I kill you?" Revan demanded again and Dane replied as she always did.

"Because in your heart, you are good. Maybe you could have taken my life. I am a soldier and I knew the risks. But the innocent life of my child…? You couldn't and you didn't."

Dane expected Revan to fall back into silence, as she usually did, and then the Exile would chat with the curved silhouette on the cot. Dane didn't lecture or proselytize, she merely talked; letting the ex-Sith Lord know that she was there to talk to whenever she wished, and that she was not alone in her pain. _She deserves a chance at a new life, _Dane had thought in the beginning. _She deserves to know that she will not be abandoned. _

The first month had been rough. Revan had been inconsolable for her loss and no amount of talking was going to sooth her. She raged at anything and everyone—especially Dane—until she dropped exhausted or until Dane was forced to Stasis her to keep the woman from doing harm to others or to herself. Revan wasn't suicidal—Dane knew she was much too proud for that—but her rampages were violent. Dane had mended more than a few broken bones during that first month.

The second month had been hardly better. Revan—always the master strategist—tried to wheedle, con, coerce, threaten, bribe, and scheme her way back to the Force. She tried everything: from holding an unsuspecting merc hostage with a piece of jagged rock to the neck, to bribing HK-47 to kill Dane. But the results of her attempts were always the same because Dane had the Force and Revan did not.

It was with that crushing realization that Revan ceased to eat or speak.

The Exile knew Revan would not give up. It wasn't in her nature. Her refusal to eat was brought on only because Revan knew the sight of her flesh melting away from her bones would incite Dane's sympathy. Her refusal to speak was a clever strategy as well. Dane had known Revan to use it during their time together as commander and general. Revan would cease communications with any officer or Jedi or senator that she desired information from. Her silence instantly created a need in the officer or senator to speak with her, to have her attentions. Her silence felt to them like a symptom of anger, and none of them--even when she was a Jedi fighting for the Republic--wanted Revan to be angry.

Dane recognized both ploys and knew how to deal with them. Food trays kept coming to Revan's cell three times a day, no matter if the previous had been touched or not. And when the silences started, Dane just continued talking to Revan as if nothing had changed. For an hour at a time, two times a day, the Exile sat in the ex-Sith Lord's cell and filled the silence with stories of the war, or her struggles against Sion, Nihilus, and Kreia. She was undaunted by the thick silence from the thin, unmoving form on the cot before her, always in the same fetal crouch, always facing the wall, always still.

Until one day the tray came back empty and Revan began asking her question: "Why didn't I kill you?"

The first time Revan had spoken, Dane nearly hadn't heard; the other woman's voice was low and rough, her words like sandpaper scraping over a stone. But the Exile _had_ heard, and it was then that Dane had smiled, sat back in her chair, and saw an end to her time on Rattatak.

Now, Revan posed her question as usual but when the last word of Dane's reply finished it's soft, echoing journey around the room, the ex-Sith Lord suddenly rolled over and faced her. The Exile, her reflexes still sharp as ever, quelled her initial reaction and only leaned back in her chair. She kept her face neutral and did not allow her surprise to show.

Revan's face was still gaunt from her fast and her cold blue eyes were dull and heavy. Her neat short hair had grown longer and now encroached on her forehead and neck like grimy blond weeds. She pillowed her pale cheek on her hand and tucked her knees toward her chest. Her eyes met Dane's and the Exile was taken aback at the genuine pain she saw there. Revan was not one to let her emotions—her true emotions—be reflected in her eyes. For one who was so adept at reading the thoughts of others, Revan knew to keep her own carefully shielded.

But now, Dane sensed that the pain she saw there now was no ruse or strategy. And though Revan's eyes were dry, Dane knew the other woman might as well be sobbing with all her soul.

"Why didn't I kill you?" Revan asked again softly, almost matter-of-factly.

Dane opened her mouth to speak, unable to tear her gaze away from Revan's. "I told you—" she began.

"No," Revan said. "That is why _you _think I did not kill you. I want to know the truth."

Dane shrugged. "What I think _is_ what I believe to be the truth. If you don't like the answer, ask a different question."

Revan narrowed those harrowing eyes. "You think it was it mercy?" She spat the word. "For you and your child? A goodness in me that only you could see or draw out? A lovely fairy tale, but unfortunately not the truth."

Despite the icy tone, despite the apathetic lack of energy, the grief that flooded the blue in Revan's eyes like a melting glacier alerted Dane to the power of this moment. It was the beginning of Revan's recovery, if she was to have one, and a closing to their time on this hunk of forgotten rock. Her meditations just that afternoon had shown her that she was close, and now she knew why. Dane silently urged the other woman to continue and Revan did.

"No, the answer is much worse than that," the ex-Sith Lord continued with a soft sigh. "The well of good in me dried up the moment I looked in Darth Tertius's bloody red eyes. I did not spare you out of mercy or kindness or even the selfish notion that I could have a different kind of future if only I could do one good thing." Revan shook her head slightly. "All this time I've been asking you why. Not because I believe your version of things, but because I wanted to work it out for myself, and every time I heard your benevolent answer, the _wrongness _of it grew stronger and stronger until I knew I was coming closer to some kind of truth."

Dane opened her mouth to speak, to tell the woman that she could _feel _that there was still hope for her, but Revan cut her off.

"The reason I didn't kill you, Dane," Revan said, "is no more complicated than a child's game. I didn't kill you because I thought I didn't have to. I didn't believe that anyone could defeat me. Ever."

"I don't doubt that's what you believed," Dane said, "nor that it wasn't partially true. But that's not ultimately why you didn't kill me when I was weak and helpless before you and didn't understand the purpose of my wound." She smiled gently. "There is good in you, Revan. Darth Tertius did not burn it all away." _But have I? Have I burnt away the life in her, or will she fight still?_

Revan narrowed her eyes at Dane. "Is that why _you_ didn't kill _me_, Dane? You didn't put me out of my misery because of that steadfast belief of yours? That same belief in the pure, shiny-white goodness of all sentients that you've been clinging to since you were my Padawan on Dantooine? Give it up because it isn't real life. No one really believes _everyone_ can be saved. No one."

Dane shrugged. "I do."

"You're a fool."

"Perhaps, but I am a happy one," Dane replied. She sat back in her chair and stroked her rounded stomach contentedly.

Revan arched an eyebrow and sat up. Dane could see the strategist in her readying a new tactic.

"Are you saying you stayed here, on this rock, playing with me—your broken toy—when you could have returned to your Atton Rand at any time? For three months? And you are happy for it?" The woman snorted. "Honestly, Dane, you must be—"

"_No_," Dane cut in, silencing Revan by infusing her considerable power into that one word. "I will not be insulted by you again. I have not remained here solely for your benefit, only longer than intended. My reasons are my own and none of your business. You think I am a soft, weak-willed fool? Still?" Now it was Dane's turn to snort with derision. "You of all people, Revan, should know just how dangerous I can be."

A spark grew in Revan's eye. Dane recognized the look. It was the eager, energized demeanor of Commander Revan facing an enemy who has just laid down the gauntlet. _Perhaps there is fire left in her yet._

"Is that so?" Revan sneered. "And you have remained here for what purpose other than to redeem me? What could possibly hold you here but your selfless, benevolent, devotion to your own clear conscious? Surely you miss your man. Surely you must want to see him and—"

"Revan, be silent!" Dane cried suddenly. "You are hardly in a position to speak of Atton and why I choose not to be with him. Not while you are here and Carth is so far away."

Revan narrowed her eyes and said in a dangerously quiet tone, "Do not speak to me of him. You know nothing of it."

"And you know nothing of me and Atton," Dane said. Saying his name was beginning to hurt. "When Carth has held a lightsaber to your neck, and drugged you, and accused you of…" She bit back her words and straightened her shoulders. "That subject is closed," she said finally.

"Is it now?" Revan pressed.

"Yes," Dane said flatly. "I grow tired of this. I want to go home—wherever I choose to make one. I have spent as much time here as I needed, and now I am ready. Only your persistent refusal to make your decision has kept me here longer than planned."

"That's not good enough," Revan spat. "You've stripped the Force from me, saved the universe and now, not satisfied with that, you're here to prove you can save me too?"

"I seek to prove nothing. I—"

Revan made a fist and slammed it on her thigh. "But you did this to me! You have to tell me why. What future were you envisioning when you stripped me of the one thing no Jedi can live without? I can guess that me being the Sith Lord Revan wasn't in your plans, but what about the Revan you left behind? Where do I fit in now that I have nothing? _Just what in hell am I supposed to do_?" she wailed, the stony cavern creating mournful echoes that asked the question again and again.

"Choose, Revan," Dane said. "Either dwell on the life you once had or live the life you have now. My only 'plan' for you is that you choose the right one."

"I have nothing," Revan muttered.

Dane sighed. "If that were true, then I would have ended you when you asked me to."

"You should have."

"Are you so sure that you want to die?"

"What have I left to live for?"

In an instant, Dane had her lightsaber in her hand, ignited, and she surged out of her chair with a speed that astonished even her. The green shaft of her weapon arced toward Revan's neck and the woman gasped and dodged out of the way of the Jedi's blade. She rolled agilely across the floor and came to her feet with a snarl. Dane disengaged her weapon.

"It's time to start being honest, Revan." Dane turned toward the door. "I can't help you until you are."

"I am being honest," Revan seethed from behind her. "I am nothing! I—"

"Yes, that's right!" Dane spat, whirling on the woman. "You are nothing. But think of what you were before! Three months ago you were a Sith Lord. Three days before that you were _an enemy_ to the Sith, battling the Count. And before that, you were Arax Saraan, a personality created by the Jedi Council to defeat Malak. And before that, you were Malak's master, a Dark Lord of the Sith. Before that, you were the ingenious rebel who somehow created a victory against the Mandalorians out of nothing. Before that, a prodigy Jedi, loyal to the Order and the Code, above all things.

"Remember your words to me when we first me in your chambers on Rattatak? You said, 'If you want to know what side of my belt I clip my lightsaber or if I smoke and drink, well so do I.' I believe, Revan, that that was the truest thing you said to me that day. You've been so many different people in thirty-five years, I doubt there is anyone, including yourself who knows the real you. The Force you wielded—all that power…it clouded your mind and obscured your own sense of yourself. You had no control over it. It pushed you one way and then the next and you, as mighty as you seemed to be, could only follow helplessly along. And that weakness made you unfit to wield the Force. You know this is true. And you know now, that you have a chance to start again. The nothing you bemoan is your clean slate.

"You may choose to wallow in the pain of your loss, or you may choose to see the future beyond it. It is a future in which you have the opportunity to be your own person. Not one defined by the Jedi robes she wears, or the mask of a Sith lord, or the smuggler's garb of a manufactured personality…You are naked of all those trappings and for the first time you and not your power can choose who you shall be."

"And if I choose Sith?"

Dane shrugged. "It is not for me to say."

"It feels right. I have so much hatred for you."

"Today you do. Perhaps tomorrow you won't."

"And if tomorrow comes and I still choose the dark side? Then what?"

Dane leveled an even gaze at her. "I will take you down again if I have to, Revan, but you and I both know how easy that will be."

"Are you _threatening_ me?" Revan asked, moving closer.

"I'll do more than threaten if I have to." Dane stood her ground. "Have you made your decision? Is it the dark side for you, then?"

Revan moved ever closer so that they were nose to nose. "_Yes_," she hissed. "I choose the dark side. I will find a way to take away from you everything that you have taken from me, if it takes me the rest of my life of to do it. I swear it."

Dane sighed. "Are you sure about that?" she asked flatly, and made an almost imperceptible twitch of her hand. Revan flew backward to crash heavily against her cot.

"You _bitch_!" Revan screamed. She climbed to her feet and flew at Dane, fists flying and fingernails clawing towards her eyes. The Exile held up her hand as if she were waving off a fly, and Revan froze in mid-stride, her face caught in a rictis snarl. Dane moved her hand forward in a pushing gesture and Revan was released from the Stasis to stumble backward and fall heavily onto her cot yet again.

"_Stop doing that!"_ she screeched. Tears of frustration were welling in her eyes and her voice rang out against the cold stone of her cell. "Before, I could have done that to you a thousand times over. I could have crushed you, or shocked you until your bones melted. I could have…I did…" Revan stammered and cried in impotent rage. "Give it back to me! Just give it back!"

Dane shook her head. "It is not for me to give back. The Force has a will of its own. My wound was its way of taking from you what you were unfit to wield. If the Force comes back to you, it will do so of its own accord. I was only its tool, not its master."

Revan wiped the back of hand over her mouth and brought herself under control. "How damned convenient for you. A perfect absolution of guilt for you, isn't it?"

"I will say again, I am sorry for your loss, Revan, but I am not sorry that I took it from you. And if you can muster the will to see a life without the Force—"

With a primal scream, Revan was flying at Dane again. The ex-Sith lord was a master at hand-to-hand combat, Dane knew, but now she only flailed her fists helplessly and without direction.

"A life without the Force?" she cried. "Go to hell, Dane! You can go to fracking hell for what you've done to me. I am no one! Nothing! I am nothing! You've taken it all. You've taken everything!"

"No, not everything. Only the Force—"

"The Force _is_ everything!"

Dane caught Revan's slender wrists in her hands and held them at bay. "If that were true, Revan, than the despairing moan of billions of sentients in this galaxy could be heard, lamenting like you are now," Dane spat. "I won't tell you that it is easy to lose it after having possessed it. It is a torture, I know, and I am sorry for that pain you're feeling now. But what has come to pass was meant to be." Dane's voice grew soft and she loosened her grip on the woman's wrists. "It is your destiny. Face it bravely, Revan but face it now, or I will leave you here."

"No," Revan whispered, weakly. She slid to her knees at Dane's feet, shaking her head as tears spilled down her cheeks. "No, it's not my destiny… it's not…"

"It is," Dane said softly. "The Force has willed it so."

There was a long silence then, whole and unbroken. Revan ceased her cries and the chamber grew still. Dane didn't move or even dare to breathe. She could feel in Revan, that the truth she had tried to fight or starve or beg to undo was not going to go away, and that it was time. The dark side was nothing more than staring at four stony walls for the rest of her life. But to return to the light...Revan would not be contained, Dane knew. She was a deep well of a person, and Dane knew she had it in her to go down deeper still and find the strength to go on.

And then Dane felt it through the Force; a little_ snap_, like a dislocated bone coming back into place.

Revan, still kneeling at Dane's feet, wiped her eyes. "I see now why you did not kill me back in the tunnels," she said softly. "Now, I see."

Dane nodded. "Without the Force…"

"I was already dead."

"_Revan _was already dead," Dane said. "And dead she should stay. Arax Saraan, on the other hand…" She shrugged and moved towards the door of the cell.

Revan snorted. "A fabrication," she spat but without energy, She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

"Yes," Dane replied. She activated the door to the cell. "But also one who was loved by her friends, and by a good man." She smiled and stepped through. "There are worst things one could choose to be," she said and shut the door, leaving Revan alone.

Dane returned to the Revan's cell three days later to the find the ex-Sith lord sitting cross-legged on the floor, her head bowed.

"Revan?" Dane stepped softly into the room.

The woman raised her head and met Dane's gaze with a pained, yet determined look in her dark blue eyes.

"No. You were right. Revan is dead. She died the same moment the Force did when you touched it with your wound."

"And so?"

"I may have been swept along in the current of the power I wielded," she said, "but if there is one truth I will hold on to, which is that no matter who I've been, I never give up easily. Whether the Force is gone forever or not, the challenge is clear." She got to her feet and brushed the dust from her worn pants. A small smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. "And I've never been one to turn down a challenge."

The woman's smile was tremulous and Dane could feel she had mustered all of her will just to remain standing before her, her head high and her shoulders straight. Through the Force, Dane saw her as a weakened, shattered being struggling to put herself back together again and her heart went out to Revan. _But there is strength in her too; the fire has not gone out. It has always burned bright in her as a Jedi and can as a non-Jedi too. So long as she lives, the Force will be with her. _

"I admire you for finding the courage to fight," Dane said quietly.

"Thanks for giving me the opportunity." Revan gave a short, rueful laugh. "Imagine that. Me _thanking_ you."

"I prefer that to threats," Dane said with a wry smile of her own. "So, what am I to call you?"

"Arax Saraan," she said. "Revan is dead and that name is fat with memories and deeds I'd just as soon let go. I'd rather be…what you said. Of all my incarnations, Arax was the only one who was loved. If I could be her, I think I would be okay."

Dane smiled. "You should be."

"Is that a foolish enough reason to want to keep going? Because of a _man_?"

Dane shook her head. "Not a man like Carth."

Arax seemed bolstered by this and an uncharacteristic softness came to her face. "Do you think he would see me again? I mean, after everything that's happened, and my leaving him…?"

"I know he would."

Arax blinked back tears and let out a shaky sigh. "Good," she said with a short laugh, "because I really need to get laid."

Dane burst out laughing.

"After all, it's been nearly four years, Dane," Arax said. "Clearly you haven't had that same problem," she said, indicating Dane's expanding stomach, "but for me it's been _four years. _ Think about it."

Dane laughed harder but then Arax spoke again. "And now you can have your life back, Dane."

The Exile stopped. "What do you mean?"

Arax shrugged. "You're free of me, and you're free of those you influenced for so long. Your crew on the _Ebon Hawk_. I know, I caught a glimpse of your influence and it was strong, but it went both ways, didn't it?"

"I suppose," Dane said slowly, as the pair moved toward the door of the cell.

"Your influence rebounded and your life was all tangled up in theirs." Arax shrugged again. "Now you're free of all of us. All I'm trying to say is, you and I both won our freedom today. Didn't we?"

Dane nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps," she murmured. "But that is something to consider far away from this rock of a planet. Let's go home," she said to Arax Saraan. "Are you ready?"

Arax nodded and heaved a sigh. "Yeah, I really am."


	48. Tying Up The Loose Ends

_A/N: Spot the Han Solo shout-out!_

_Enjoy! _

**------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ **

**Chapter 48**

**Tying Up The Loose Ends**

_Dear Missy,_

_I hate to be the sender of bad news, but your fool man is gone. After weeks of staring sullenly into space and giving me dirty looks, he finally upped and left the med facility. The ingrate didn't even have the decency to say thank you for all the hours I spent pouring my precious Force energy into his sorry self to make him well. Of course, I did try to kill him when all the shenanigans with Revan were going on, but he hardly remembers that and the staff here stopped threatening me with incarceration a long time ago. (Force persuasion. A nifty trick, never leave home without it.) And that's beside the point! The point is, he's a rude, inconsiderate cuss and you're likely better off without him._

_But I know you've got a soft heart and won't see it that way. So like I said, I'm sorry to be the one telling you this, even though I suspect you aren't going to be surprised by it. You knew when you left that he'd go so maybe you won't go all teary-eyed about it._

_Bah, who am I kidding? I know you loved the bum and though I don't want you to feel bad about him going, I know you probably are. Which is too bad, because I'd just as soon not have to tell you scrag like this, so there._

_Anyway, I do have one bit of good news. One day not long ago, that blasted holovid was blaring—( I don't_ _know why, fool man didn't even watch it. He just fixed his eye on some spot on the wall like he was sure some dimensional porthole would open up if he just stared long enough) But in any event it was on and the news reported the death of some Sithy count on a no-name rock called Brisia. A Jedi lass with a shock of red hair apparently cleaned out a stronghold there and the newsdroid was reporting that was the end of some secret Sith plot to compromise the safety of the Republic. Surprise! (No surprise to you or me of course, but we all know_ _the media only has two gears: slow on the uptake, and criminally sensationalist.) _

_Anyway again, your man actually turned his head from his favorite spot on the wall to the vid of this red-haired lass and he heard the news that the Sith had been defeated and I swear I saw a smile try to escape. Of course, I called him on it and of course he immediately scowled at me, but I saw it, by gum. I may be old but I'm not blind. My point being, I think he's going to be okay. He may still have some skeletons to haul out of his closet and bury, but at least he's opened that door. And I think he's willing. _

_So that's all I got, missy. Visas, as I'm sure you know, is insisting on another blasted meeting. I swear it was just yesterday we were all together, yakking about Force-knows-what and boring ourselves to death. But that Visas is a persistent one, I'll give her that, so I'll be there with bells on. We'll talk more then. _

_You take care and get yourself back to civilized planets before I have to go and get you. _

_Yours ever, _

_Jolee_

_------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- _

**Coruscant, Jedi Temple…**

"Arax Saraan, step forward," Visas said. Her soft voice carried to all corners of the chamber so that all in attendance heard.

And the small group sat at attention as a side door slid open and a tall woman strode into the Council hall. She held her head up high but all seven of the Jedi in attendance, even Mission Vao, the lone non-Force-adept among them, could sense the apprehension radiating off the woman. They could also sense—and see, and smell—the cigarra smoke that permeated off the butt she had tucked into the corner of her mouth and was nervously puffing on. She moved to the center of the circle of chairs that ringed the small room, stopping when she faced the Miraluka.

"Arax Saraan," said Visas solemnly but then stopped and frowned. "Put that out."

Dane covered her mouth to hide her smile.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," Arax muttered. She dropped the cigarra onto the floor of the chamber and stamped it out with the heel of her boot. "Old habits," she said with a nervous grin.

"Indeed," Visas said and settled back into her chair. "We would hear your report."

Dane watched as Arax nodded and licked her lips. Nervousness did not become her and fit her poorly—like an itchy wool suit. There was a pause and Dane wondered if Arax would forego all that she had agreed to and defy the Council. The pain of losing the Force was no small thing and Dane wondered hourly if Arax would choose to give in to that pain.

But the woman, proud and determined, threw off her nervousness and said in her loud, gravelly voice, "I report that I have committed treason against this Council. I succumbed to the dark side while doing battle with Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Tertius. I sought to turn this Council to my own ends or, barring that, destroy it."

There was a stirring among the Jedi. Juhani, Dane noticed, was scowling and rubbing the stump where her hand had been. When she had arrived on Coruscant three days ago, Dane had learned that Mical had severed Juhani's hand while both were caught in the throes of Darth Tertius's gift. The Cathar chose not to fit herself with a prosthetic, preferring to show her stump openly as a warning to others about the dangers of the dark side. However, now Dane could see Juhani's fiery temper flare anew at the sight standing before her: the woman responsible for her loss.

To Juhani's right sat Mical. His brow was furrowed and he tapped his chin with a forefinger pensively. Dane had noticed immediately the change that had come over the Disciple. Evil—true evil—drawn from the furthest, deepest corners of his heart, had filled him, and the taste of it had been more real and more unsettling than any text on the dark side he had ever read. He was no longer Juhani's Padawan, but a Master in his own right. The youthful naiveté of studious observation was replaced by the cooler, more calculating demeanor of experience. He sat beside Juhani and Dane could feel the affection he had for the Cathar, and it was not colored with regret.

_He is his own man now, and the title of 'Disciple' no longer suits him,_ Dane thought.

To Mical's right, sat Mission Vao. The Twi'lek's attention, Dane had noticed, was intensely riveted on the proceedings. But Dane sensed too, that it was an act of sheer will to keep her eyes away from Dustil.

To Mission's right, sat Mira, and beside her, Jolee. After Mira had returned from Brisia, Dane had sent her to Coruscant where she and Jolee, it seemed, had become inseparable over the last few months. What the two had in common, Dane could only guess.

Beside Jolee sat Dustil looking miserable. His sightless eyes were red-rimmed and downcast, and Dane could sense he was only loosely paying attention to what was happening around him. His true attention was on Mission, and a heartbreaking aura of regret and grief surrounded him.

_I hope whatever damage has been done can be undone, _Dane thought, her gaze turning to Arax.

"And have we reason to fear further treason from you?" Visas asked the woman who had been Revan.

Arax shook her head. "No, I'm not…" She swallowed and cleared her throat. "The Force is gone from me. I am a Jedi no longer."

Though all in attendance knew this for fact, there was still an indrawn breath, as if only now did they truly believe the shocking truth. The pain in the woman standing before them was palpable, and Visas didn't let the awful moment fester any longer than necessary.

"There is no greater loss for a Jedi than the Force," she said. "The Council has decreed that the punishment is just, and that no further actions need to be taken. The Jedi Revan is dead. You will henceforth be known only as Arax Saraan. And, being a non-Force adept, you have no further business with this Council. You are dismissed."

Arax winced at the Miraluka's words. She hesitated, and Dane could feel the wounded pride swell in her. Back in the day, it would have been Revan who conducted the meeting, and passed out judgement. Now, there was no more Revan—only a non-Force adept who was beneath the Council's attentions and dismissed like a messenger boy might be dismissed after delivering his parcel. Arax's lips pressed together in a tight line. She gave a low bow and left the chamber, sauntering casually, as if she had decided the proceedings no longer interested her.

_And now it is my turn, _Dane thought. _I doubt it will be as painless as I hope. _

"Dane Koren, step forward," Visas intoned.

Dane pushed herself from her chair with effort. She no longer wore her Jedi robes as she felt it was unseemly for her to be seen in them with the five-month swell of her stomach. Instead, she wore a simple tunic over soft leggings. Her lightsaber, however, was still clipped to her belt.

"The last time this Council met, there were questions raised, but not answered, as to how we should or should not honor the laws set forth by our predecessors," Visas began. "Specifically, the question of whether this Council would condone the taking of a mate by a Jedi, and the forming of romantic attachments in general. It is the determination of this Council that those prohibitions should stand."

Here, the Jedi Masters—Jolee, Juhani and Mical—nodded to indicate their collusion in the matter. The others, who had had no say in the decision, reacted otherwise. Dustil closed his eyes in defeat while Mission stared straight ahead, not looking at anyone or anything. Mira began to twitch in her robes.

"The reasons set forth by our predecessors are clear and eloquent, and we feel no need to repeat them here, except to say that we have determined them to be in keeping with the Code," Visas continued. "And the Jedi Code _is _the heart of our religion. We cannot, in good conscious, allow trespasses against those doctrines that we find displeasing while adhering only to those that are comfortable to obey. That is not true service, and we require of all our Jedi _true service_ if they are to bear the title of Jedi."

Visas turned her hooded gaze to Dane. "Your service, Dane Koren, has been exemplary and many times you have gone above and beyond the call of a Jedi Knight. You have sacrificed willingly for the good of others. You have put yourself in danger so that others might be spared it. You have made the safety of this galaxy a real and true thing with your actions as of late."

Dane bowed. "Thank you, Master Marr."

"Don't thank me yet," Visas murmured with a small smile. Louder she said, "However, you chose to maintain romantic attachments, the evidence of which is quite apparent. We wish we could say that your honorable and tremendous service negates the trespasses against our Code, but we cannot. We cannot compromise our beliefs no matter how deserving the subject. Dane, your lightsaber."

Visas held out her hand, palm up and devoid of threat, though Dane felt as though she were holding a jagged dagger to her heart.

The Exile reached to her belt and touched the cool metal of her lightsaber. She let her fingers trail over its surface, feeling every line and curve of its familiar design. She hefted it in her hand, and smiled ruefully.

"This is harder than I thought."

Visas smiled gently but said nothing, and her hand remained as it had been.

Dane was about to place her weapon in the Miraluka's grasp but stopped. "I have a request."

Visas dropped her hand. "Yes?"

"On Dantooine, there was a cave of crystals growing deep underground," Dane began. "Practically on a whim, I picked one up and pocketed it. Later, Master Kreia told me it was special, though how or why she did not say and when she touched it, it turned a foggy shade of gray. She then said that it was special and that it was to be named for me. It was a simple crystal, nothing beautiful or 'extraordinary' about it, and at the time, I hadn't even had a lightsaber yet. But when the time came, Bao-Dur crafted this saber for me." A dull ache stabbed at Dane at the thought of her friend, and she gazed down at the silver shaft in her hand. "Bao-Dur made this lightsaber for me and he put that crystal inside. I know that I must relinquish this to you," she said, "but I would like to keep the crystal that is mine. It is special to me for it will remind me of the Jedi Master who taught me so much and of my dear friend through whose hands it passed. It would be a great comfort to me. May I keep it?"

Visas only nodded and Dane unscrewed the bottom of the lightsaber, letting the contents spill into her hand. The emitter and the green crystal that gave the blade its color she ignored—her eyes were only on 'her' crystal. She laughed and wiped a tear that had slipped down her cheek.

"What do you know?" she said aloud and held up a perfectly brilliant white crystal. "It's clear again."

"I am not surprised," Visas murmured.

Dane admired it a moment longer and then tucked it safely into a pocket. She reassembled her lightsaber and slowly, reluctantly, handed it over to Visas.

The Miraluka nodded. "And so it is done. Dane Koren, you are hereby removed from the Order. Though you will retain your Force abilities, you are forbidden to call yourself a Jedi, nor may you wear the robes of a Jedi. Let it be known, however," Visas added, louder, "that the title of 'exile' is no longer appropriate." She smiled gently and Dane could feel the affinity and affection the Miraluka had for her. "You are not exiled from this Order. You are an ally, and shall always remain as such. And, should there come a time when you are willing to serve as a Jedi in all forms, your petition will be gladly taken."

"Thank you, Master Marr," Dane said. She bowed again and stepped aside. She was no longer a Jedi and so could not take her seat among the others, but waited off to the side while Visas adjourned the meeting. Arax sidled next to her, a new cigarra tucked into the corner of her mouth.

"You know, after I killed one Sith Lord, they gave me a medal," she whispered. "You killed four—six if you count all the Darth Tertiuses; seven if you count the mighty, fallen Revan—" she added snidely, "and you get stripped of your knighthood. Was that how it was supposed to happen?"

Dane kept her eyes forward and ran her hands over her stomach. "Yes," she said, with a small smile. "It is my destiny."

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"You will leave us now?" Visas said to Dane. It was more a statement than a question, Mission Vao thought. The Council was adjourned and was now gathered around Dane except for Arax, who had mumbled some excuse about readying their ship and had slipped out.

"Yes, I leave now," Dane said. "To Telos."

"This very second?" Mission asked, though without real energy. "You only just got here."

"Yes, Telos is where I think I will begin my new life. The Restoration Project is there and so is Carth. He has told me he has news for me that can only be heard in person, so I will go there."

"Is Atton there too?" Mission asked quietly. She watched as Dane's face clouded over.

"Maybe. I don't know."

_It's so hard for her. Let it drop,_ _Mission_ berated herself. "Well, tell Carth I said hello and goodbye," she said, keeping her eyes steadfastly off of Dustil who stood a few paces away. "I'm going back to Nar Shaddaa tonight," she said added softly, but it was a small chamber and she was sure Dustil heard her clearly.

"Are you?" Dane asked. "Returning to your shelter?"

Mission nodded. "I can do more good there than here, and I realize that messing around with the Force is not…it's not good for non-Jedi, you know?"

"Yes, I know," Dane said gently. "But what you have accomplished is exactly as I had foreseen." She pulled Mission toward her and said in a low voice, "I don't know what ill has been done to you. I can only surmise it involved Dustil and Darth Tertius using my influence against the Jedi."

Mission nodded. "It did something really bad to him, you know?" she whispered. "And I can't see my way to forgiving him. I look at his face and I just remember…" She let her voice trail and left the rest for the Jedi to discern from her emotions.

"I'm sorry for that, Mission," Dane was saying, "I truly am, but I am so thankful for all the ways in which you helped me and I hope you don't regret them. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have found Atton again, and he couldn't have rescued me from Raff O'Bannon without your help. And here, even if you leave now, you brought love into a young man's life and stayed with him in his darkest days."

_Because I loved him. But I can't love him anymore. _Mission choked back her heartache and concentrated on Dane's words.

"You have shown," Dane continued, "that it does not take being able to wield the Force to be invaluable to the Jedi."

Visas nodded and stepped closer to the two women. "I am sorry to see you go, Mission Vao, but know that your contributions have not gone unnoticed."

"Thanks, but I think I could do better on Nar Shaddaa," Mission said. "That place needs some help, you know?" _And the farther away, the better. _

Dane nodded. "My old master told me something once and I didn't pay it much attention. But, as with much of her advice as of late, I am now coming to understand. She said of Nar Shaddaa that where once the lost and disposed were trapped, they will now struggle and grow. From despair shall come hope. I think she was seeing the fruit of your labors, Mission."

Mission wiped her eyes and attempted a smile. "Maybe. It's going to take a lot of hard work, but I think a lot of hard work is just what I need right now to take my mind off…things," she finished self-consciously. She was so clearly trying _not _to look at Dustil, she felt may as well have been staring right at him. "Thank you, both." She bowed to Visas briefly and was slightly amazed when the Miraluka bowed deeply to her. Then Mission turned to Dane and hugged her. "Promise to come visit me on Nar Shaddaa? I would like to see the fruits of _your_ labors, too, you know."

"Of course," Dane laughed, embracing the girl. "If you can, give him a goodbye," she whispered into Mission's ear. "You'll feel better for it."

Mission nodded and stepped back as Dane said her goodbyes to Juhani, Mical and Dustil. The Twi'lek watched Dane take Dustil's forlorn face in her hands and murmur to him words of encouragement or comfort. _I wish I could touch him like that, _Mission thought, but an icy shiver slipped down her spine and she looked away.

Dane departed with Visas, Mira and Jolee accompanying her to the dock. Mical and Juhani quietly slipped out and before she knew it, or could avoid it, Mission was alone with Dustil. He stood ten paces from her in the empty chamber and Mission fought a terrible, heartbreaking urge to run away.

"So you're leaving," he said dully, his sightless gaze cast to the ground.

"Yeah," Mission replied. "Before all this happened I was working at a shelter—"

"I know," he cut in. "You hardly talk to me for months and now you're just going to go? Were you going to say goodbye?"

"No," Mission said softly, and he raised his head and looked in her general direction, a scowl on his features. His angry expression reminded her of that terrible afternoon, and Mission felt her emotions suddenly well inside her like a wave readying to break. "I wasn't," Mission said, her voice tremulous. "I was just going to leave because…because it hurt too much, you know? I can't forget what happened, and what _almost _happened and…Force! Your face! You looked like you… _hated _me so much!" she wailed. The wave crashed and she broke down into sobs.

Dustil's expression melted and he moved toward her. "I'm so sorry, Mission," he said, holding his hands out before him like a beggar. "Please. It wasn't me. You _know _that. It wasn't me. I love you…"

"Don't _say_ that," Mission sobbed. "It _was_ you. It was _your_ face and _your_ lightsaber you pointed at me and _your_ _hands _that…" She shook her head, unable to continue.

"That's not fair!" Dustil cried, and the pain in his voice forced Mission to look at him. She saw a proud young man with the frustrated tears of a boy in his eyes before her. He wiped them quickly away and visibly tried to bring himself under control.

"Don't remember me like that, Mission," he implored, his voice cracking despite his best efforts. "Please. There were plenty of other times when we were together. Remember _them_."

Mission didn't move but let him approach.

"Remember the first time we were really alone together?" he asked, his voice gruff. "Remember how we fought the Inferno members who had stowed away on the _Hawk_?"

Mission nodded, forgetting he couldn't see it. Dustil's groping hand found hers and she let him take it.

"Why don't you remember that, instead?" he begged. "How I fought for you. I would have _died_ for you." He put her hand to his lips and kissed it over and over again. Mission felt his tears on her skin when he pressed her palm to his cheek. "I still would, Mission," he said. "And I would do anything to make you forget what happened when the dark side had me. Anything."

Mission leaned against him and let him hold her, willing the awful memories away. He told her again and again how sorry he was, and Mission tried her best to let his words sink in and take root in heart. But when she looked up at him, at his brown eyes, blind and wet, and his handsome young face that bent down to kiss her, the memories came sweeping back in a terrible rush to crush the forgiveness she had tried to find.

"No!" Mission flew out of his arms and backed away. "I can't. It's not the same anymore," she cried. "I'm sorry, Dustil. I can't. And besides, your Council said we can't be together—"

"Then I'll quit!" Dustil declared. "I leave the Order. I don't care! I can quit! I—"

"You can't quit and you don't want to. And even so," Mission said, her voice growing small, "it's too late. It's just too late."

She went to the door of the chamber but his voice, low and forlorn, stopped her from activating it.

"I wish I wasn't blind," he muttered, his features contorted in frustration and grief. "I remember how you used to look at me. I just wish….wish I could see your face again."

"No, Dustil," Mission said, her voice hard and her tears dried. "You don't," she said, and went out.

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"I feel sorry for him," Mical said. "We shouldn't have listened." He and Juhani were in a small room adjacent to the meeting chamber. He could just hear the door slide shut behind the Twi'lek as she left and then he ceased his Force-enhanced hearing.

"We had to ensure he kept to the Code," Juhani said tersely, rubbing the stump where her right hand used to be. "You heard him. He wants to quit us over her."

Mical sighed. "He's a young man in love. He's impetuous and those are just impetuous words."

"Are they?" Juhani demanded. "It is that kind of passion that tears Jedi away from the Order. You couldn't have had a more perfect example of it than his betrayal just now."

Mical turned around and faced his former master. "Betrayal? Watch your words, Master Juhani or choose them more carefully. You would describe a rain shower as a hurricane."

"You doubt that is true?" the Cathar asked incredulously. "Why, if it weren't for the Twi'lek's departure—something that was long overdue in my opinion—my words might've been proven very apt indeed. What if she gave in? What if she lured him away?"

"Then that would be his course and his destiny, and we would have no business interfering," Mical replied placidly. "I, for one, don't want a Jedi Order comprised of Jedi who wish they were doing something else. If he wants to go, let him go. We cannot enforce morality; we can only honor it and lead by example. And so on that note," Mical said, "I am going to retire now, Master Juhani, and meditate on the day's events. I humbly suggest you do the same."  
"Perhaps I will," Juhani said, her demeanor suddenly thoughtful. She laced her arm through Mical's as they exited the chamber. "And what, Master Mical, do you suggest I meditate on?" the Cathar asked.

"Compassion," Mical replied.

"Fair enough," Juhani said, "but only if I may suggest the topic of your own meditations?"

"Of course."

"Balance," the Cathar said, her cat-like eyes suddenly hard. "There must be a balance in all things for there to be harmony. I am no longer your Master; you are one yourself, but please do not fall into the habit of dismissing my observations as those of 'the temperamental Cathar' who lost her head and then lost her hand. Where there is your serenity, there is my energy. Where there is your tenderness of heart, there is my hard discipline. This Council we now govern must have both, if there is to be a balance. Do you see?"

Mical smiled thinly. "Yes, Master Juhani. I see."

"Good," the Cathar said and without another word, turned down a different corridor to her chambers.

"I see that our Council meetings are going to be anything but dull," Mical chuckled to himself as he watched her go.

Mical started for his own chamber when he realized Dustil, not yet recovered of his sight, was now alone and without the aid of the Twi'lek to help him. _Poor fellow, _Mical mused as he hurried back toward the meeting chamber. _He will make a remarkable Jedi, if I can salvage him. _

He found Dustil slumped over his chair, his hands dangling between his knees, his head drooping.

"Ah, yes," Mical said softly by way of alerting the blind man to his presence, "I can see a woman's been through here."

Dustil didn't crack a smile at the jest, but lifted his head. The forlorn expression on his face—the picture-perfect rendering of a young man who's suffered his first heartache—would have almost been comical to Mical had he not been wearing a similar one for the last seven months.

"It wasn't my fault," Dustil said, a twinge of anger coloring his words. "I couldn't make her see that."

Mical sat down on the ground beside the younger man. "Are you so sure? That it wasn't your fault, I mean."

Dustil's head whipped around and his eyes, though unfocused, were ablaze. "What's that supposed to mean? You think I _wanted _to…to just…against her will?"

"No," Mical replied. "Not as you and I sit here. But the dark side is not something that simply _happens_ to a person. It is born out of one's darkest and most corrupt notions. I could say that my wounding Juhani like I did was the dark side and nothing more. It attacked me like a vapor, clouding my vision and obscuring my judgement, and when it passed, her hand was severed, end of story. But that is not true. I had anger in my heart—not toward Master Juhani in particular, but it was there. I had an unexpressed desire to lash out with violence for all the things I wanted but never got, and I had pride in my abilities to wield a lightsaber and a desire to show those abilities off. The dark side, then, pulled all of those notions from me and Master Juhani lost her hand for it."

Dustil took this all in and then made a sour face. "You make it sound like anyone can fall to the dark side. Unless they're perfect."

"It's possible," Mical mused, "if the situation is right. But no one is perfect, are they?"

Dustil sighed and shook his head. "No. I wanted her. I really did. I was willing to wait, of course, but…" He sighed again. "Can we not talk about it anymore? I understand what you're saying, but I'd rather not dwell on how the dark side can use all my imperfections against me. I'll probably sleep better that way."

Mical laughed and then said, "Being a true Jedi does not mean vanquishing one's weakness to perfection. That is not possible. Being a true Jedi means a willingness to confront those weaknesses and to keep them from interfering in your service. Every action of a true Jedi, no matter how small, makes the galaxy that much safer." He got to his feet and turned to Dustil. "The question then, is are you still a Jedi, Knight Onasi?"

Dustil nodded and got to his feet too. "Yes, Master Mical. I am."

"Excellent. Now, how about we go outside and get some air?"

"Oh sure," Dustil snorted. "I just committed myself to a lifetime of celibacy. I'm going to need a lot more than some fresh air." But he took Mical by the crook of the arm as the Master laughed and guided him out of the Temple and into the brilliant afternoon sunshine.

"Well, at least my vision is getting better," Dustil muttered, squinting his eyes. "Instead of a big dark blur, I see a big light blur."

"That's fantastic!" Mical exclaimed. "You're sight will be fully returned in no time, I'm sure. Wonderful."

Dustil heaved another sigh. "Yeah, that's a relief, I guess. But Master Mical….It still hurts, you know? Losing Mission."

Mical patted Dustil on the shoulder as the two men headed down the busy Coruscanti street. "Just like your vision, my friend. Day by day, it will get a little bit better. Day by day."

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Mira said her goodbyes to Dane and then watched her embrace Visas. The Miraluka said something Mira couldn't hear but it seemed to give the former exile great comfort.

"I'll come to see you on Telos after Visas gives me my orders. Won't be long, I promise," Jolee told Dane. The two embraced for a long time and then Arax Saraan poked her head out from within the transport's loading bay.

"Is today the day we leave for Telos, or is that tomorrow, after you and the old man are done crying all over one another?" she asked dryly. "Let's move, shall we?"

"I can tell this is going to be a fun ride," Mira heard Dane mutter. And then the woman said her final goodbyes and boarded the transport, Brus Missil and HK-47 on either side of her.

After it had taken off and Visas had retreated back to the Temple, Mira and Jolee were alone on the docking bay. The afternoon sun was brilliant, turning the smog-laden sky over the great city into a palate of deep red, blue, and gold.

Mira shielded her eyes as Dane's transport winked out of sight and turned to the old Jedi.

"So, when are you leaving?" Jolee asked, his eyes also on the horizon.

Mira started. "How did you know?"

"I may be old, but I'm not deaf, dumb, and stupid," Jolee replied. "Every time I say that fool boy's name, your face turns redder than that abstract art piece on top of your head you call hair. That reminds me. I been meaning to ask, what you do? Cut it with a vibrodagger?"

"Abstract art, eh?" Mira chided. "You're one to talk. The last time you had hair _to_ be cut, Freedon Nadd was trying on his first pair of black Sith tights."

"Don't try to change the subject," Jolee groused, "just answer my question."

Mira rolled her eyes and relented. "Tonight," she replied. "My mark's already got a three-month head start, so I've got my work cut out for me."

"Nah," Jolee said, "It'll be easier than that." The two turned and strolled along the walk toward the Temple. "I reckon he's wanting you to come and get him. Heck, he said as much in that datacard you gave me."

Mira's eyes widened. "He did?" she asked and then quickly lowered her voice. "I mean, he did?"

Jolee raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you're a smooth one."

The young woman snorted a laugh. "Okay, but even if he wants me to find him, I still don't have the faintest idea where to begin looking."

"That's easy. Check the nearest planet that caters to lazy, good-for-nothing smart-aleks, and you'll find him _and_ be home in time for supper."

Mira's smile faded. "I don't know that I'll be coming back," she said quietly. "If I find him and things go…_well_ for us," she said with a faint blush, "then I can't come back."

Jolee heaved a sigh. "Yeah, I know it. Our new edict about keeping to the old ways is going to put a damper on all you young and anxious Jedi. You going to turn in your robes?"

"I think so," Mira replied. "I think my days as a Jedi are numbered. It's not just Lirik. I'm glad I have the Force but taking orders and having assignments, and being—"

"Chaste?" Jolee offered.

Mira laughed. "Yeah, that too. It's hard and it's not for me. I'm not going back to my old life, don't get me wrong. I still want to help the Jedi and the Republic, but I want to do it in my own way."

"Fair enough," Jolee replied. "I ain't one to judge, and I'm a shade too lazy to spend my energies trying to change your mind. You seem like you got a head on your shoulders anyhow, and don't need an old coot and other stodgy Jedi telling you your business. But let me ask you a favor."

"Shoot," Mira said.

The old Jedi stopped walking and laid his gnarled hand on her wrist. "Once you find that fool boy, bring him around, will you? I'd like to say hello."

Mira was taken aback at the gentle quality to Jolee's voice and how his wise brown eyes suddenly lost their hard glint. "Of course," she said. "He talked about you, you know, during the short time I had him. I could see you were important to him."

The old Jedi absorbed her words and then nodded curtly. He abruptly released her arm and rapidly began walking again so that Mira had to hurry to keep up. "Important? _Pshaw! _ I'll show him important. Yes, you bring him around so I can 'say hello.' And then, after all that sweetness, I'll stick my _important_ foot up his arse for running off on us at Telos."

Mira hid a smile as Jolee continued to mutter and grumble until they reached the Temple door.

"This is it," Mira said, stopping on the threshold. "I'm going to talk to Visas and then I'm going to go. I don't like long goodbyes."

Jolee nodded. "Aye. Me neither. Don't like'em, never have. I've had enough of it already today. All my girls leaving," he added, resuming his grousing. "First that chatterbox of a Twi'lek, then blondie and now Red over here," he said, nodding his head at her. "Gets so an old man don't know who's coming or going…"

Mira silenced the Jedi's grumbling with a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Take care, old man," she said. "You're kind of important to me, too, you know."

She expected a blustering retort or reprimand, but instead Jolee patted her on the cheek like a father to a daughter. "You take care too, dear," he said seriously. "And you won't knock that fool boy around too much, will you? You'll take care of him, won't you?"

"Me? Of course," Mira said, and blushed as red as her hair. "I love my targets."

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**Telos, Republic Offices, TSF Station, two days later...**

Carth Onasi put down the datapad for the fifth time and picked up another, also for the fifth time. "I hate paperwork," he muttered for the _five hundredth_ time. If he ordered a supply run on one day and practice maneuvers on another, it seemed insane to him that he should have to verify those orders_ two weeks later_. "Bureaucratic crap," he muttered and affixed his thumb to the Republic-issue Veri-Scanner3000. "What I need is a good long war."

Carth had no sooner said the words than a security alarm sounded its keening wail throughout the offices.

"That's more like it," the Admiral said and glanced around the room to see where he had left his coat. He found it—under a pile of datacards and the remnants of that day's lunch. He was in the process of brushing the crumbs off of it, when he heard the door to his outer office slide open, followed by a chaos of shouted warnings. He heard Deke Targan's voice, among others.

"Even better," Carth muttered and nonchalantly drew his blaster from the holster in his coat and took aim at his inner office entryway. That door was open; he never left it closed despite the repeated admonitions from Deke to do so and so soon enough a tall, willowy figure rushed into his blaster sights.

Lieutenant Targan and half-a-dozen blaster-ready soldiers spilled in after, each one shouting loudly and with great authority for the intruder to get down on the floor. A lesser-willed character would have collapsed, Carth thought, if only out of pure instinct to prevent a blaster-bolt from lodging in her back. _But not Revan. _

"At ease," Carth told his men in a voice that he hoped sounded calm and that did not reflect, in any way, the fact that his heart had skipped a beat or two. He lowered his own weapon quickly—partly because he knew the intruder, mostly because his hands were trembling just enough to be unsightly before the men.

"Sir?" Deke asked, always the last to lower his weapon where Carth was concerned. The Admiral made a mental note to promote the young man when next he had some free time.

"It's all right, Lieutenant," Carth said, re-holstering his weapon. His eyes were only on her. "She's not a threat, I don't think. If she were, we'd already be dead."

Deke didn't appear reassured at that but Carth nodded his head and made a shooing motion and the lieutenant reluctantly withdrew his men. "I'll be just outside your door, sir," Deke said before closing it behind him. Carth hardly noticed.

"That's a good way of getting yourself killed," the Admiral said. He leaned against his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. "Though maybe not if the mighty Revan believes she is mighty enough to waltz into Fleet Headquarters without authorization or repercussion. What'd you do? Use your Jedi mind tricks?"

"No," said Arax in a voice hardly more than a whisper. "I have no tricks. I have no Force."

Carth barely registered her words. He was hearing her gravelly voice, the voice he thought _had_ to be the sexiest in the galaxy, for the first time in nearly four years. His heart ached for it, and then that span of time came crashing down on him. _Four years,_ he thought. _Dear gods, is this really happening?_

Aloud he said, "No Force? That hardly seems strategically sound. What's the catch?"

"No catch," Arax whispered. "Dane took it from me."

"Did she?" The urge to rush toward her was nearly overwhelming but he wasn't entirely sure, when he got to her, if he would kiss her or slap her. _Four years…_

"Your hair's longer," Carth heard himself saying. "You look different."

Arax nodded. "You look…the same."

"Same as when you left?"

"Same as when I woke up on Taris after the _Endar Spire,_" she said, taking small, hesitant steps toward him. "Even then, I—"

"Why did you leave?" he demanded. She flinched and then froze.

"I…because…"

"Why?" he spat before she could articulate a reply. _Four years…This had better be good._ Another, warmer voice piped up, _Force, she's so beautiful. _ He shoved that voice aside.

"I mean, this is it, Revan. Give me the truth and nothing but, or so help me I'll call Deke in here and he'll escort you out of this office and straight into the stockade where I'll charge you with every offense I can think of and a few I'm forgetting. Now _talk_."

He hated the awful, cold tone in his voice and he hated how he knew he was looking at her—with eyes of stone and his heart buried deep underneath. _But four years, dammit. Four years…_

"I left because I wanted more," she said.

Carth tried not to let show how that stung him. _You asked her for the truth and she's giving it. Man up. _ He stood up straighter and, if possible, more stiffly. "Did you get what you wanted?"

Arax nodded. "Yes….and no."

Carth made a fist and struck the top of his desk, causing Arax to jump. "Speak plain, dammit! You owe me that much."

"What I wanted remained the same," she cried. "What I wanted, what I've _always _wanted since I was eight years old and found out I had the Force; since I was a Padawan, a Knight, and then a Master; since I was an admiral for the Republic, a Sith Lord…Whatever I was, I always _wanted_ the same thing."

"And what was that?" Carth asked. "What did you want that was so damned important?"

Arax sagged where she stood and looked at him with those blue eyes that were spilling over.

"_Everything_."

Carth shifted but mercilessly said nothing, so she continued.

"I wanted more than anyone else. The most skill, the most strategy, the most smarts, the Force at my bidding, and above all, _power_. Since I was eight years old, I had to have the most power. It was an _itch_ that wouldn't go away. No one could stop me. They could only want what I had, want what I was, want to _be me._ Good or bad, Jedi or Sith, it had to be that way.

"And I had it all until our defeat of Malak at the Star Forge began to become a memory. And so I left you to feed that want again, because being with you…" Her voice went up an octave and tears spilled over her cheeks. "Being with you was so good and so safe, I couldn't imagine that it was all I ever needed," she whispered. And then she raised her eyes to look at him and said, "But it is."

Carth said nothing, but took it all in. She was looking at him with an earnestness that was wholly unnatural to the woman he had known. Arax must have taken his silence as rejection for her cheeks colored an angry red. She wiped her eyes and took a steadying breath.

"So it's over now," she said flatly. "I don't want all that anymore and I can't have it even if I did." She shook her head. "I don't have the Force anymore, Carth. Dane took it from me. It's gone and all that's left is me. No Revan. Just Arax."

Carth found his voice. "Good."

Arax looked up at him sharply. "Is it?"

"Yeah."

There was a silence and then Arax planted one hand on her hip and glared at him. "So, that's it then? That's all you have to say?"

The combination of that familiar stance, coupled with the tears that were standing out in her eyes and the plain, bald-faced fear that she would lose him written all over her face, did the trick. _There's my girl, and there's something more to her now,_ he thought. _Something I can trust._

"No," Carth said aloud. "That's not all. Come here, beautiful."

Arax hesitated. He could see her pride swell and go to war with her regret. She crossed her arms over her chest. "I wasn't all bad, you know," she said sharply, though her tears were coming and there was a tremor in her voice. "I fought the Sith. I tried to kill that evil first…before I gave in…" She began to sob again, and pressed her face into her hands.

Carth released himself from his rigid stance and went to her in three long strides. "I know, gorgeous. That's what I want to say to you." He pulled her hands from her face and looked into her dark blue eyes through blurred eyes of his own. "I'm proud of you, Arax. And I'm so happy."

"You are?"

Carth gave a little laugh. "Yeah, I am. I'm happy because the woman I loved was so brave and here you are…" He choked back what would have been an intensely unmanly reaction and cleared his throat. He took her face in his hands, his thumbs wiping her tears. "Here you are, brave and stubborn and still fighting. You never gave up and for that, I never gave up on you. I never could. I never will. I love you, beautiful. I love you…"

He kissed her then, and when he did, he felt he had wasted the thousand precious moments since she had barged into his office with pointless talk. Suddenly none of it mattered, and he couldn't remember the answers to the questions that had seemed so important. All that mattered was her. She was back and she was his again, and her mouth was on his and her arms were wrapped around his neck, and the four years vanished with the taste of her on his lips. He kissed her over and over again, her cheeks, her forehead, her chin, and Arax could only nod and cry and kiss him in return.

But though his mind and heart had forgiven the four years of her absence, his body had not. One of his hands was at the small of her back, pressing her to him, the other was entwined in her short hair, but he knew he was about to get real ungentlemanly, real quick. For a second he wondered it was too soon to touch her the way he wanted to touch her but Arax answered the question by suddenly wrapping her legs around his waist, and knocking him off balance so that he fell back onto his desk.

Her display of passion increased his own, and he was suddenly grateful that the Republic had seen fit to bestow upon him a very large desk. He flipped her onto her back, knocking several of the bothersome datapads onto the floor. He trailed kisses down her throat and then into the open V of her shirt, pulling buttons open as he went along. Arax was less patient in her desire and hauled his own shirt off over his head with one rough yank.

The touch of their skin on skin after four years was nearly too much; their breathing became ragged and their movements more frantic as the full reality of that absence struck them both.

"Baby," Arax said breathlessly "Never again," she promised. "Never…"

"Damn straight, gorgeous," Carth returned. "I won't ever let you go."

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_A/N: So sorry, but I really tried to get the whole thing done and posted at once, but the end-end is giving me a hard time and real life keeps interefering. But I promise the last chaps won't be three months in coming. Hopefully in a week. _

_ I will also be better this time about replying to reviewers. Since you take the time to leave one, I should make the time to reply. And when I really do wrap this up, I'll do a more in-depth author's notes and replies to you all._

_ I can't tell you how grateful I am for your support. I am just overwhelmed. Thanks so much.  
_

_Up next, Dane and Atton have their resolutions, (but I'm not going to say if they have them together), Elin makes her appearance, and a blast from the past takes Dane out and shows her a good time. _

_Thanks again!_

_Love, Trillian_


	49. The Promise

**Chapter 49 **

**The Promise**

* * *

_Huge thanks to **Bald as Malak** for the inspiring beta reads. You're the best._

* * *

**TSF Station, Telos…**

Arax dashed out of the freighter almost before it had come to a complete landing, and charged into the network of the TSF station and out of sight.

"You want I should go after her?" Brus Missil asked. He had been with her from Rattatak to Coruscant, and now here as a bodyguard; the fact that she had been stripped of her Jedi status hadn't seemed to register.

"No," Dane said, smiling. "I know where she's going."

"Dreary Confirmation: As do I," droned HK-47, trudging out of the transport with them. "Even a lesser make and model than the exquisite unit that is me could deduce that Former Master Revan has ambulated with great haste toward Admiral Meatbag. Distasteful Declaration: It's enough to make even the hardiest non-organic want to spew his wiring."

"That'll do, HK," Dane admonished with a roll of her eyes. She turned to Brus. "And this is the end of your service to me," she told him with a smile. "Thank you for accompanying me this far. It was appreciated."

HK-47 said in full volume: "Muttered Complaint: Quite. As if I wasn't capable of performing such a menial task on my own..."

"Just ignore him," Dane told Brus.

"I do," replied the big man, flashing something that might have been a smile. He saluted Dane. "May the Force be with you in all of your future quests, and good health and luck to your young one," he said, indicating her growing stomach.

"Thank you, Brus," Dane replied with a nod. "May the Force be with you as well."

He grunted and hefted his blaster that was—much to HK-47's annoyance—much larger than his, and strode off.

Dane watched the hulking man disappear into the crowd of people going about their business on the docking bay. When she could not see him anymore, she slung her bag over HK-47's shoulder over his protest and started away from the transport that had brought them from Coruscant.

"Relieved Statement: I can't say that I am sorry to see the over-sized meatbag go. He was quite unnecessary," HK said, as they headed into the complex. "Concerned Query: I do hope you weren't _paying_ him."

"HK," Dane sighed.

"Humble Reply: Yes, Master Koren?"

Dane paused. She had been about to order the droid to shut up, but suddenly, alone for the first time in a long while, she changed her mind.

"HK, what am I going to do with you?" she asked instead, and resumed walking.

"Eager Suggestion: If you are the merciful and benevolent master I have come to believe you are, you would send me to the nearest battlefront so that my core protocols could be initiated."

"I could," Dane said, "but there is no war going on at this time. Not one battlefront to speak of."

"Hmm, so there isn't," the droid mused as they entered the complex. "Hopeful Query: Know of anyone who needs to be assassinated?"

* * *

Dane waited three days before going to visit Carth, taking a room at a small hotel that mainly served to give pilots in transit a rest between jumps. She had half-feared that Carth would have taken a leave of absence now that Arax was back, and so was relieved when the Republic Head-Quarters' security receptionist informed her that the Admiral was in, and would she please be so kind as to leave her Hunter-Killer unit outside? 

HK reluctantly complied and Dane rode the turbo-lift to the fourth and highest floor of the HQ. On Coruscant, Carth's offices were hundreds of floors up. Here, on the TSF station, the Fleet could only give him the best they had.

Outside his office, the secretary informed the admiral that he had a visitor, while Dane chewed her bottom lip and settled down to wait. Carth had told her he had some news for her, and while nightmares of the last few weeks still plagued her sleep, she couldn't help hoping that the news had to do with Atton.

Dane had tried, over the last few months, to analyze her feelings for him but had discovered that it was impossible to come to any conclusion. When Arax—then Revan—had chided her for staying on Rattatak longer than necessary, Dane had held her tongue. She had stayed, not only to help Revan find a life without the Force, but also because she had hoped, with every passing day, that she would come closer to some sort of resolution within herself about what place Atton had in her life.

The only thing she had resolved was that her feelings for him were a tangled mess of contradictory emotions. Loving words overlapped with sneering threats. Moments of exhilaration were twisted up with the leaden, heaviness of his drug coursing through her veins. The sound of his lightsaber purring at her neck drowned out the sweet words whispered in the deep of the night.

Dane had tried to sort it all out, to learn if the collection of happy memories and love for him outweighed all that had come to pass since Manaan, but how can does one measure that? Whenever she thought it was too much and that she was better off without him, she imagined she could feel her child moving in her womb. When she considered that she loved him still and how his fate was bound to hers, she would go to sleep content only to wake up the next morning with all her fears and hesitations right there to greet her.

Dane pondered the tangle of emotions as she stood outside Carth Onasi's office chewing her lip and wondering what news he had to tell her.

Finally, the secretary's comm beeped and a moment later, the door to his office slid open. "You may go in," said the secretary.

The first thing Dane noticed was how happy Carth looked. Arax's return took years off his already perpetually youthful face and added a spark in his dark brown eyes to replace the deep melancholy that had rested there earlier.

"Dane," he drawled and rose from the chair behind his desk as she peeped her head around the corner, a smile splitting his face. The smile fell a notch when she stepped inside and he could see the rounded swell of her stomach.

"What in the…?" he stammered, his eyes growing dark. "Dane," he said slowly, "what happened? And do I need to kill someone?"

Dane read his confusion and shook her head. "I think you're old enough to know what happened, and no, you don't need to kill anyone. I was pregnant before I left for Rattatak."

Carth's expression lightened with relief and then immediately darkened again. "Before? Dammit, Dane, how could you do that? I would have never let you go off to fight that Tertius if I had known you were…in that _way._"

Dane smiled and patted her friend's cheek. "I know, that's why I didn't tell you."

She watched him try to hold on to his ire but it was a losing battle. "Well, no more," he warned, wagging a finger. "No more fighting for you. You're going to stay right here on Telos where I can keep an eye on you," he said and embraced her gently. "Is it… Atton's?" he asked when he released her.

Dane nodded. "Of course." She cleared her throat and smiled tremulously when Carth offered her one of the two chairs in front of his desk.

"Oh, good," Carth said with a mischievous smile. "That fits perfectly with my plans."

"What plans?" Dane asked. "And you said you have news?"

"Do I?" Carth laughed, and then abruptly asked: "Where are you living right now?"

Dane blinked at the sudden change in topic. "Um, I'm not sure yet. I haven't decided…"

"Well, I think you should live here, on the TSF station," Carth stated. "The whole project is coming along really well, and there's a bunch of new apartment complexes that I think you would really like."

"Yes, but Carth—"

"And one of those complexes is really close to the docking bays where all the transports that haul goods and supplies to the surface come and go from…"

"I don't see—"

"But that's not to say the apartments aren't _nice_. It's not even loud there. Quite a few of the transport pilots live in them and say they're quite comfortable."

"Carth, I…"Dane stopped. "Pilots?"

Carth nodded, his smile huge. "The best pilots. One in particular, shows real promise."

Dane's breath caught in her throat. "When?"

The admiral's smile slipped and Dane knew he had seen her face drain of color as surely as she had felt it.

"A few months ago," he said slowly. "I saw his name on a progress report for surface terrain reconstruction, so I went to his supervisor for the whole story. Apparently, he came by looking work, said he didn't want anything high-profile. The supervisor said he asked for the toughest, most unappealing job—the one that he was having the most difficulty hiring for but was most needed and wanted. Supply hauling and loading fit that bill. It needs a skilled pilot to navigate the heavy freighters and needs a strong arm to unload the supplies. It's an exhausting job but he wanted it and so they gave it to him. I went down one day to see him." Carth chuckled. "He wasn't too happy about that. Looked like he'd seen a ghost. And he made me promise not to tell anyone he was here, and I kept that promise until I saw you walk through the door." Carth chucked her under the chin. "Best promise I ever broke."

Dane shook her head as though to clear it. "But his health," she began. "How can he be doing such hard labor…?"

Carth shrugged. "If he's in poor health, I can't tell. He works twelve-hour shifts, six days a week—and yes, he _volunteered­_ for those shifts. I haven't heard a complaint out of him, health-wise or other. But just to be safe, I ordered up his medical charts to make sure he wasn't on some kind of suicide mission. He's not. Charts all but say he's a 'medical miracle.'" Carth beamed, clearly quite proud of himself. "So, let's see a smile now, and when we're done here, I'll take you down to the dockyard personally. It'll be lunch soon and you can say hello. Unless of course, you don't want to…" he added, his eyes scrutinizing her face. "Do you?"

Dane glanced up at him. "I don't know," she said softly, then shook her head. "No, I mean, of course I do. It's just that…"

Carth rubbed his chin. "It's a lot to forgive, eh?"

"I've forgiven him here," Dane said, tapping her temple, "but seeing him in person is a whole other matter."

"Well, damn," Carth said with a small laugh. "And here I thought you'd declare me your hero-for-life."

Dane took her friend's hand in his and smiled ruefully. "You _are_ my hero-for-life, and I'm very glad you found him and that he's working and that he is safe." She sighed. "No, now that I know where he is, it is as if one battle is over and another takes his place." 

"Well, I'll leave that to you, but I meant what I said about the apartment." Carth held up his hand when she started to protest. "We have more and more personnel relocating to the surface every day. There are plenty of vacancies." He chucked her under the chin again. "Don't make me issue an order. I'm already up to my ass in more paperwork than I care to think about."

Dane forced a smile. "Thank you, Carth. That would be fine."

After that there was nothing more to say, so Carth showed her the apartment. It was a small, two bedroom affair that Dane thought was more than generous. In return, she turned HK-47 over to the Republic. She instantly missed the droid, but had no more use of him. And in the end, working for the Republic offered more of an opportunity for HK to 'initiate his core protocols' than he ever would serving her. Carth took his 'payment' dubiously and teasingly reminded himself aloud never to do her another favor.

Over the next few days, Arax and he helped her get settled in. Dane occupied herself with the move and did not let herself think how close Atton must be—perhaps even in the same building. She lived in a constant dual state of fear and hope that he would round the corner of some hallway one day. _And what will I do? Kiss him or turn and walk away? _

A week later, Dane sat on her small couch alone. Carth and Arax were gone and the rooms were quiet. _There is no other time, _she thought, _and no better time._ But still she did not move. Her hand was resting on her growing belly and she thought she felt the smallest of movements beneath it. It was too early, she thought, but real or imagined, the result was the same.

Dane got up, threw on her coat, and headed for the docks.

* * *

**Telos, docking bay 64-G…**

She saw him before he saw her. He, along with ten other men, was loading cargo into a large freighter whose vents were hissing and spitting in pre-launch mode. Like the others, he wore a TSF-regulation flightsuit in plain gray with an identification badge clipped to the right front pocket. The flightsuit wasn't as flattering as his ribbed jacket and the fingerless gloves she loved so much, but he looked healthy—tall and lean, with a deep tan and his hair cut short and neat. Dane remembered his terrible injuries, but he walked without a limp, and he showed no indication that he had been impaled by a lightsaber only a few months before.

Dane approached slowly, her heart thudding in chest as though it were trying to escape her ribcage. A part of her rejoiced to see him alive, healthy, his face animated as talked with the other pilots. Another part of her remembered that same face twisted and sneering, and uttering terrible words of hate and betrayal. Dane forced the memories back and moved closer. When she was thirty or so paces away, he saw her. He froze as if she had just laid a Stasis over him before breaking it to shake his head.

Even from her vantage some yards away, Dane felt his doubt and self-loathing. He spoke a few words to another pilot and then jogged over, slowing down the closer he came until finally stopping a few paces from her.

"I should have known Onasi couldn't keep his mouth shut," he said, and in him Dane sensed bitterness and solace at the sight of her, like a dull rock imbedded with one thin vein of gold. "When did you get here?" he asked and she noticed he resolutely refused to look at the swell of her stomach.

"A little more than a week ago," Dane said, trying to keep her voice even. It wasn't too hard; they both had to practically shout in order to be heard over the din of freighter traffic behind them. "How have you been?"

Atton's expression darkened further. "Half of my intestinal track is synthetic and I've got enough metal in my leg to set off every security checkpoint from here to Degoba. Other than that…?" He shrugged. "Oh, and I seem to have misplaced the Force too, but I'll live. I never was much of a Jedi." His gray-green met hers. "What about you?"

_Terribly lonely and missing you and riddled with doubt at the same time. _"Fine. I've been fine. Carth helped me to get an apartment here on Telos so that I can help with the Project. At least until…the baby comes." She had almost said, 'until Elin comes' but caught herself. _He doesn't remember. The Force is gone from him and meeting his daughter is nothing more than a vague memory locked somewhere in his mind. _

Atton's glance flickered to her stomach for the first time and back again. "I'm glad," he said. "I mean, I'm glad you're doing fine." Dane now felt a mixture of regret and uncertainty within him. It mirrored her own.

"Listen, this is really bad timing," Atton said. "I'm about to ship off for about three months. We're heading to out on a massive supply run," he said, jerking a thumb to the freighter behind him, "and we'll be making a dozen stops. Those Ithorians made a shopping list a kilometer long."

Dane forced her expression to remain neutral. "That is too bad," she said. _Force, three months? _"Do you really have to go?"

"Yeah, I do," Atton said. "We're taking off right this minute and I have to fly the thing." His gray-green eyes found hers and he shook his head. "But even so, I'm not…" His words trailed and he kicked an imaginary pebble in frustration. "I'm no good for you right now," he said finally. "I don't know if I ever will be." He sighed and shook his head. "I've been doing what you said in the Secret Academy, you know? Just trying to work some things out on my own. So I'm going to go on that ship, because I think I still need to."

Dane nodded and felt tears spring to her eyes despite her best efforts. "You should go, then," she said softly. "You have to find your own way."

"Yeah," he agreed, though without energy. "I guess I do."

There was a silence between them where neither knew what to do or say next. Finally, one of Atton's coworkers shouted at him that it was time to go.

"So that's it," he said. "I might not be here then, when…uh, when the time comes. The baby, I mean," he stammered. "When does, uh, when does that happen?"

"In about four months."

Atton nodded. "I'll be gone for almost that. That's cutting it close."

"Yes, it is," Dane said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. _He has to find his own path. You don't want him like he was, do you? _

"I'm real sorry about that," Atton said. Dane waited for him to say more but he was silent. The volume of unspoken words between them was growing deafening and she couldn't take it anymore.

"All right," she said. "Have a safe trip, Atton." She quickly turned and began walking away before he could see her tears. She was ten paces away when he called to her. She turned around, wiping her eyes quickly with the back of her hand.

"I almost forgot," Atton said, jogging up to her. He dug a hand into the pocket of his flightsuit. "Here," he said, and held out a credit chip.

"What is it?"

"Half of my pay since I started here," he said. "I figured you'd come back and that Onasi would tell you where I was. It's for… just in case you didn't…well, I saved it up. I've opened an account and I've been putting half of my pay in it. Every month. The chip has the account number and all that scrag. I thought you might need it for… you know." His eyes flickered almost imperceptibly to her stomach and then back to her.

Dane felt her lower lip tremble but she did not move.

"Hey, Rand!" called one of the other pilots from behind them on the dock. "Clearly, you've already done your job with her, so would you mind sparing some time for us? Let's move!"

"Take it," he said again, ignoring the other crude cat-calls from his crew, and pressing the chip into her hand.

Dane read the amount there.

"It's not much," Atton said hurriedly, "but I work overtime most weeks, and if you ever need more I can get advances. My boss likes me…" He shrugged and a faint smile touched his lips.

"Thank you, Atton," Dane said, her voice a whisper.

"Yeah, hey, no problem."

"Rand!" came the call, this time more irritated. "On the double!"

"I have to go," Atton said, half-turning though he did not leave. "But, listen. After everything that's happened, there's no way I would expect you to consider this, but for the baby's name…It's a girl right?"

Dane could only nod.

A brilliant smile lit up Atton's face for a moment. "A girl," he said quietly. "Well, anyway, I was thinking, if I don't make it in time, and you get stuck for a name, my mother…she had a pretty nice name. She died when I was just a kid but—"

From behind: "Rand! _Now!"_

"Nice to know I'm so wanted," Atton said with a small, nervous laugh. "Anyway, my mother's name was Elin. It's a nice name, I think."

Dane nodded again, using all her will not to break down in front of him. "It's a beautiful name."

"Yeah. You can use it if you want. Okay, so that's it," Atton said awkwardly, a pained expression on his face. He hesitated a moment longer, and then started back to the dock. "Bye, sweets. I'll see you when I get back. And I promise I'll be there when she comes," he added suddenly, in a voice Dane had never heard him use before, and then he dashed away.

"Goodbye, Atton," Dane whispered, her tears flowing freely now, for his promise was a thousand times more valuable to her than the credit chip in her hand. Through blurred vision, she watched him race to the freighter and be reprimanded by another pilot. Atton took it in stride and rushed to the cockpit ramp. There, he stopped and Dane thought for a moment he was going to turn and wave to her, but he did not. He ducked into the ship and the ramp closed behind him.

"Well, that was a lot harder than I thought," Dane said to herself and walked back to the apartment complex alone. "But there is still hope. Still…"

* * *

**Supply freighter, en route to Corellia…**

Atton Rand set checked the navicomputer to make sure the course was correct and then flipped on the automatic control system. He kicked his feet up onto the console and lay back in his pilot's chair as the freighter's hyperdrive turned the stars outside his viewport into white and red ribbons. His copilot muttered something about getting a cup of caffa. He did not ask if Atton wanted any. The slight bothered him, but only a little.

"King of the Assholes" was his self-dubbed title. He didn't socialize with the other pilots on his crew. He didn't play cards or drink or go out looking for women. For Atton, there was too much work to be done, too much that was broken that needed to be fixed.

Alone now, he felt safe to run over in his mind his meeting with Dane. It had been harder than he had thought no matter that he'd been half-expecting it ever since Carth Onasi showed up at the docks. The shield Atton had erected around himself was as hard as starship durasteel around his crew and yet was as flimsy as tin once he saw Dane. The sight of her reminded him in the most immediate way of all that had come to pass, and the hard work he had been doing for the past months seemed like a trickle of water when he needed an ocean to wash all his crimes away. The hope in her wide blue eyes and the swell of her stomach as the child—_his _child—grew inside her were proof that _someone _in this Force-forsaken universe cared about him. When he had lost or killed or betrayed all who had ever mattered to him, Dane was still there. The tears in her eyes had been like mute appeals telling him she had judged him and found him still worthy, even if no one else did. Even if he did not.

_But does she really? How can she still want me, after all that happened? _

The events of the past few months flickered through his mind like a damaged holovid. Manaan, where everything had fallen apart; Telos, where it had blackened and died. And there was the TSF station where he had awoken with a sheath of synthskin covering half of his abdomen and a vague sense that the Force had carried him for a time and then had washed him up on some deserted island. Where he was alone with Jaq. In that quiet time, in the med facility, with Jolee Bindo at his side and the pain pulsing in his guts like a second, barbed heart—it was then that he faced Jaq.

Dane had said 'Jaq' and 'Atton' were only names, but she was right. 'Jaq' was only the persona he had given to all that was weak and dark in him, while 'Atton' was nothing more than a half-assed attempt to pretend that the atrocities he had committed belonged to someone else. Somewhere in the middle was the real person that Dane loved and he understood that it was now, during this time, that he had to find that person. But to do that, real or not, he'd have to kill Jaq.

Jaq wasn't a real being, but Atton made him one. He'd had to. If he was to battle all that was rotten and sour in him, he needed an enemy he could put a face to. And until Jaq was finally vanquished, neither Atton, nor anyone close to him, would be safe.

Now, as Atton sat unmoving in his seat, as the stars flash past him at speeds too impossibly fast to comprehend, as his copilot rolled his eyes and exited the cockpit muttering that "Rand is in another of his 'trances,'" Atton stepped onto the battlefield where Jaq was waiting, a sly, ugly smile on his face.

_Ready, Atton? _

Atton, sitting in his seat, nodded his head almost imperceptibly. _I promised Dane I would be there when the baby was born. And I will keep that promise. _

Jaq smirked. _A weak opener, Rand. Let's see if I can counter. Hmmm. How about…the first Jedi you murdered? You think holding that Koren woman's hand while she pushes out your brat is going to make that little job go away? Let's find out…_

Atton braced himself—his muscles going rigid and his eyes narrow but glassy as the memory came full force and undiluted. He did not fight or try to block it, but took it like a penitent awaiting his lashes.

…I saw my sister, helpless and afraid. The last moments of her life came to me and, as always, I was reminded of my own failure to save her. And how the Jedi failed too…

"You did not help her," I heard myself say to the Jedi. He was sitting up, his back to me and getting ready to stand. Without thinking, I reached up and took hold of the Jedi's head with my hands. One snaked around his head to grab the Jedi's forehead, the other to his chin. With a quick twist and a snap it was over, and the Jedi's body—empty now—crumpled into my lap…

* * *

**Entertainment Sector, TSF, Telos, three months later…**

"I didn't expect to find you here," Dane said. "In fact, I thought I would never see you again."

Her companion shrugged and downed his whiskey. "Same here." He eyed her up and down. "Have a drink?"

Dane raised an eyebrow. "I'm eight months pregnant."

Her companion shrugged again. "Suit yourself." He hailed a passing waitress and ordered another shot. The cantina was dark and loud and the air was laden with lazy tendrils of thick smoke. He had to shout to make himself heard. But Canderous Ordo was accustomed to making himself heard, and the barmaid scampered off to fulfill his request.

Mandalore turned back to Dane in the booth they shared and ran a hand over the silver stubble on his chin. "So I hear you've been busy. My men report you killed another Sith Lord and that Revan is dead. True?"

"Yes, it's true," Dane said evenly. "And what have you been doing? Rebuilding your clan?"

Canderous grunted. "Maybe. I know you Jedi still scratch the backs of the Republic so pardon me if I don't go into tremendous detail."

"I'm not a Jedi."

"Oh, yeah?" Canderous snorted. "Could have fooled me." The waitress hurried to the table and offered him his whiskey. He quaffed it before she had it off the tray. "Another," he barked and the young girl scampered away again. He turned back to Dane. "So what's this all about? Why did you agree to have a drink with me? You don't want to talk about what you were doing—you changed the subject so fast, I got whiplash—and I don't want to tell you about my business. So what are we here to talk about?"

Dane toyed with her glass of water, making rings of moisture on the scratched tabletop. "What do you do after you've won a battle?" she asked finally.

Canderous barked a short laugh. "That's easy. I go back to my clan, I drink from the Chalice of Honor, I frack a woman, and then I sleep." He quaffed the rest of his drink. "Then I get ready for the next battle. That all you wanted to know?"

"What if there isn't another battle?" Dane offered. "What if the war is over?"  
Canderous peered at her through the dimness of the cantina with eyes like chips of blue glass.

"Depends. If I lose the war, I seek atonement and vow to return victory and honor to my clan. If I win, then I celebrate. In both cases, I prepare for the next war." He held up a scarred and callused hand when Dane made to speak. "There is _always_ another battle, another war," he told her. "Peace is an illusion. Sentient beings always need something to fight over. They gotta have problems. If there aren't any, they'll create some. You believe Mandalorians are war-mongering, battle-thirsty warriors. Well, that may be true, but we're the ones who live the true nature of sentients. War. Conflict. Strife. Get used to it and you'd save yourself a lot of headache."

Dane frowned. "I don't think—"

"Fine, fine," Canderous muttered. "Don't believe me. I don't have the time or the words to try to convince you, and, more to the point, I don't care. You'll come around soon enough." His grizzled face took on a knowing smile and he chuckled to himself. "That's the Mandalorians' job, I reckon. Anyway," he added, his gruff voice low again. "I'll tell you something I think you can hear, and maybe it's what you're after anyway: You won this war, princess. Now you're loafing around, wondering what the hell to do next, right? What you do is, is you figure out the next problem and go after it. You won't feel so bored."

_The next problem, _Dane thought. _Atton…But he's so far away…_

"You're right, Canderous," Dane said. She forced a smile. "I am bored. Running in to you here has been the biggest excitement of my life lately."

"Thanks. I feel warm all over."

Dane thought back to her conversation with Revan on Rattatak, the last she had before Revan was no more. She leaned forward, as much as her bulging belly would allow. "Can I ask you another question?"

"If you feel up for it," Canderous replied and belched.

"You were never…_influenced_ by me, were you?"  
Mandalore made a face. "Are you coming on to me?"

Dane rolled her eyes and laughed. "No, I'm not. And never mind my question, you just answered it perfectly."

Canderous shrugged, stretched and belched again. "Good enough. Well, my time's up," he said suddenly. "I'm sure my men have completed our business here by now and if they haven't, they'll learn the price of laziness. " He gave her an appraising glance. "You know, if that simpleton Rand has left you, you can always come back with me to my clan. You're a breeding woman; we can always use more of them."

"No, thanks," Dane said dryly. "But I appreciate the offer."

"All right then," Canderous said and stood up. "Oh, and for the record, no, you never influenced me like you did the others. I prefer to do my own thinking, if it's all the same to you. But I _did_ feel it. Like you were pulling on me with your mind, or something. I don't know how to explain it. But I don't feel it anymore, and that's fine by me. Should be for you too. I figure it was pretty difficult to do your own thinking when you got half a dozen people's lives crowded around your own. It would bother me." He shrugged again. "See you around, eh?"

Dane watched him go, watched him smack the rear end of the waitress who'd been serving him as he swaggered out the door, and into the canned atmosphere of the TSF station. She sat for long moments in the booth, mulling over Mandalore's words. _He's right. I never realized that the influence of my wound went both ways. I've been a cipher through which others have guided their lives, and so had only a shade of my own. _

A small, incredulous laugh escaped her. _A life of my own. What a novel concept. _ She shook her head and breathed a sigh of relief. _And it was Canderous Ordo, of all people, who helped me to see it. _ Dane chuckled at the thought and decided it was high time the pregnant woman left the cantina.

_Canderous Ordo, _she marveled and laughed harder, as she stepped out into the late afternoon sun. The more she mulled it over, the funnier it became until the chuckle turned into a full-fledged laugh and Dane had to lean against the wall of the cantina for support as tears of mirth—and relief—rolled down her cheeks. _After all is said and done, it's the crass, arrogant Mandalorian who saves the day…_

And then a sharp, stabbing pain stole her laughter and her feet became drenched in warm wetness.

"Oh no," Dane breathed, clutching her abdomen that was clenching with a pain the Force would never alleviate. "Elin, you're early…" she gasped and staggered off the wall to hail a cab.

* * *

**TSF Med Facility…**

Dane was not alone during the eleven hours it took to bring Elin into the world. Carth had been the first to arrive and had stayed with her until his wife had shown up. With no small amount of relief, he turned Dane over to Arax and took up a post in the waiting room.

It was strange having Arax with her, Dane had thought in between the hard, glassy pains that bent down and gripped her. Building any sort of real friendship had been slow going over the last few months, but the birth of Elin, accelerated whatever shred of amicability the two women shared. They weren't close, and likely would never be, but Dane was glad to have her there. She realized that having the woman who had been Revan with her made her feel safe. Arax barked orders to the nursing droids and the doctor as though she were on the field, and made sure Dane didn't want for anything. Except for Atton.

Elin had come early and Atton hadn't returned from his mission. _This moment…he is missing it and it won't come again to save us. _

The pain came again, this time harder and more intense. Dane squeezed her eyes shut, squeezed Arax's hand as if to channel the pain. As the pangs came closer together, Dane pushed that grief aside. She became grateful to have Arax's hand to grip as the baby was pushed out of her body in an exhilarating and indescribable moment of the purest joy, pain, strain, and triumph.

Dane heard Elin's first cry and sobbed with relief and for the overwhelming feeling of love that bloomed in her at the sound. The nurse droid laid the squirming bundle in Dane's arms while Arax surreptitiously wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

"Looks just like you," Arax said gruffly.

"No, not just," Dane said tiredly, gazing down at her daughter. "She has Atton's chin."

"You have a name picked out?" Arax asked after a moment. "One that would honor the loyalty and devotion of the person who saw you through this ordeal, perhaps?" she teased lightly.

Dane looked up at Arax at met her eyes. "It _would_ be appropriate to honor the person who has stood by me, and helped me, and protected me," she said softly and Arax's eyes widened. "But I don't think 'HK-47' is a very nice name for a little girl."

Arax's jaw dropped open and then she burst out in loud guffaws of laughter that drew a stern glance from the human nurse still in the room, tidying up. "I'm sorry," Arax snickered, "but when did you develop a sense of humor?"

Dane shrugged and turned her gaze back to the baby. "I don't know. There's a lot of me left to be discovered, I think."

Arax nodded. "Fair enough. But this little doll still needs a name."

"She has one," Dane said, her eyes heavy with fatigue. Her smile faded as she touched a fingertip to her baby's tiny chin. "She's had one for a long time."

After a time, Arax left Dane and the baby to nurse and to sleep. When Dane awoke it was late in the night. She cradled Elin in her arms and felt the still of the medical ward lying over her like a stifling blanket of silence, and the grief struck home. Atton hadn't come. He had missed the birth of his child and there was nothing that could change that. It didn't even matter that Elin had come early.

_If he had wanted to be here, he never would have left in the first place, _Dane thought. _It's over. It is truly over. _

The thought was terrible in the pained relief it brought her. A dull ache settled into her heart and she drifted into sleep to escape it.

And that night, Dane dreamed for what seemed like years—an endless stream of images and thoughts and emotions…

Time goes backward and forwards, and for the Force, it has no meaning, Jolee once said, and the dream carried her both upstream and down the ribbon of time, with the Force binding everything as one…

An old woman's final words, hard and so purposeful that they seemed engraved in stone…a headstone, Bastila's, Bao-Dur's… they are dying again, dying for her, dying for the Jedi and for love, too. And Macen, raising his hand to her and so she says good-bye… a searing pain in her hand, in her leg, behind her eyes as she takes Dustil's blindness…whiskey-tinged breath on her cheek, O'Bannon's mirthless laugh and dead eyes and blood in his face where she cut him…the maddening _itch_ on the back of her neck, in her skull, in her brain and the emptiness where the Force used to be…

A scramble of events—here, the sun-dappled fields of Dantooine, and now the coldness of space as she watches the dead planet fall to pieces and Atton is behind her. There is no release, only grief, and his warm breath on her neck that reminds her that she must leave him behind.

But she can't let him go, and like a handful of sand slipping through her fingers, she tries to hold on to him, even as the sand becomes glass and cuts her.

Slipping away, slipping backward, time slips and she sees the planets with their dark secrets and the starships carrying their dark lords, and she fights them all just so that she might know a little peace with him… She grabs at these little moments of happiness with him—a smile, a touch, a look that he can't take back or hide.

Now on the Smuggler's Moon…he calls it his home, but that is only a part of the web of lies that keep him safe. He is growing out of Nar Shaddaa before her very eyes like a child grows out of his patched and well-worn clothes. The moon is desolate and helplessness hangs in the air like a pungent odor…decay and fear…she holds her breath as she did in the Jekk'Jekk Tar…

He comes to her then, to warn her. _It's a trap,_ he says, and she can see the love in his eyes and he doesn't even know it's there. But he is out of breath, he ran so fast to tell her…

Here is Manaan, and Telos, and Coruscant, and now his breath is coming hard in ecstasy, in pain, in fear, and anger. She tastes his blood, she tastes the caffa on his lips, so sweet…and the scent of his skin, the scent of sweat, of smoke and ash as the Temple burns behind her, burns in his eyes as he pleads with her to end him and kill the darkness that Lirik awakened…

_I will never be afraid you…_

_You should be…_

…and the snap-hiss of his blades, the deep pain of his needle, of the hate in his eyes like some strange shield to protect him from remembering the dead Jedi in his lap, his hands over the cooling skin that covers the broken bones…and Dane recoils, like the ice of the drug in her, she grows cold to see him looking at her like that…

Not like he did on Peragus.

A mining facility in the middle of nothing, he is waiting for her and she is looking for him though neither knows it, and there is a moment coming that will change them. A moment they will make into a dividing line, and everything that came before will be gray and dull when compared to everything to come after.

That first moment. Not when he sees her, and she him. Not when she frees him, or when his lust flares bright and hot over her. But the moment she comes back from the space walk and he is glad she is safe. She can feel it in him, a little sigh of relief. That tiny, infinitesimal moment that stretches on and on to a time neither can envision but that both can predict in the deep recesses of their hearts where hope lives. From that moment forward, they are forever lost to each other, for better or for worse, and for all the days to come—stumbling, staggering together through the morass of mistakes and heartache and good intentions, Force-bound and destined. It is out of her hands, or his. She knows the secret of his deep heart, and that it will be what finally kills Jaq, and he knows that the boundlessness of her love is the gift others had had a taste of and sought, but is for him alone if only he can find his way back to her to claim it.

It was the beginning.

It was in that moment.

He jams his hands into his pockets and she turns her head to keep her reddened cheeks from showing.

The dream closes in blackness, like a curtain falling over a quiet stage, and Dane wakes with an aching desire to see the final act.

She opens her eyes and sees the tall, dark shadow standing over her; a hand reaching to touch her and the baby she holds; but as she had promised, she is not afraid of him and she never will be.

"Hello, Atton," she says softly.

"Hiya, sweets," he replies, and Dane falls back asleep, smiling in the dark.


	50. The Resolution

**Chapter 50**

**The Resolution**

The next morning, Dane awoke fully to see Atton in the chair beside her bed. He had tried to fold his tall body into a position of comfort, but his arms and legs were askew and his chin rested on his chest at an awkward angle.

"Atton," she said.

He jerked awake at the soft sound. "Yes, what?—I'm here." He blinked and glanced around the room, trying to get his bearings. His gaze fell on her and the baby in her arms, and an expression she had never seen him wear touched his face for only a handful of seconds. He sat up and winced. "The Force-cage on Peragus was more comfortable," he said and rubbed his neck.

"Have you been here all night?" Dane asked, though she already knew the answer.

"Pretty much," Atton said, and she noticed he wasn't looking at her or the baby, but his gaze flickered over the room. He was wearing his TSF flight suit, a plasteel I.D. badge clipped to the right pocket. The picture on the badge matched his expression now—unsmiling and serious.

"Sorry I wasn't here for the…you know," he continued, still not looking at her. "I tried to get back but the stupid, fracking boosters on the last transport had to go and blow a ring, of course, and the morons on the rock we were stationed at didn't know a fracking hydrospanner from a…" He stopped. "Sorry. I shouldn't be swearing in front of, uh…the um, _her_, right?"

Dane looked down at the sleeping infant in her arms. "Probably not," she replied softly, "but it's good for her to hear your voice, I think."

Atton nodded. "What's…uh, what's her name?"

"Elin."

Atton nodded again and looked down at his hands that were clasped together in his lap. After a moment he barked a harsh laugh. "Holy fracking Force on a taun-taun, Dane, I couldn't even make here. Seven hours earlier…" He looked over at her for the first time and she saw the pain in his gray-green eyes making then stark and radiant in their coldness. "Why? After everything that's happened, why do you still…" He sighed and shook his head. "I just don't get it."

Dane began to reply, to tell him that she could see the last few months hanging over him. She could see he was battle-weary and fatigued, that he had been struggling with the black and poisoned things of his life. She could see that he, like herself and Revan, had been standing on one side of the battlefield, and Jaq had been standing on the other, and the great war within him had been waged in the long, quiet hours of his life. She wanted to tell him she could see the blood and soil and sweat and tears of battle on him and that his atonement was not locked somewhere deep and far within him, but right there before him, come to fruition because he was here right now. Seven hours late or not, he was here.

Instead, she beckoned him over silently and laid their daughter in his arms.

He held Elin awkwardly at first, as though he cradled a fragile and priceless shell that would break at his slightest movement. But after a moment, the tension eased and he looked down at the sleeping baby in his arms with eyes that were wet with tears. Dane's own tears coursed down her cheeks for she felt, in that instant, Atton fall in love with his daughter.

* * *

For a week, Atton came to Dane's apartment nearly every night after his shift ended. He didn't stay long; no more than an hour usually, just long enough to hold his baby for a bit before she went to bed. Dane would watch with her eyes full as he held his baby gently against his chest and made silly faces at her. Then Dane would put Elin to bed, they would talk for a while and then he would go. Both of them felt the tension between them, in those parting moments. She didn't want him to leave and he didn't want to go, but he did and she closed the door after him.

_We're waiting for something, some moment…_Dane thought one night after he'd gone and she could still feel his hand on her arm where he'd touched her so briefly. _And we're both afraid because after this, there is no starting over again. _

And then he had to leave again. For a month, he told her, his words like lead weights dropping between them. She'd wanted to touch him so badly, to hold him and tell him that he was so needed and loved. But Dane did not. There was still a dark spot in him, a shadow that hung around him and made her wary. _I turned my back on his dark nature before. I won't—can't, for Elin's sake—do it again._

And so he left and she closed the door after him.

Dane's first inclination was to despair over his absence. It hardly seemed fair, with Elin so new, that he had to be gone again. But her talk with Canderous Ordo—one that seemed as though it was destined to be insignificant but was anything but—had opened her eyes. She would no longer drift with the tides of circumstance, but make her own way through the stretch of years that remained to her. If it was her destiny that Atton wasn't there to share them with her, then so be it.

But despite her wariness over him, despite her determination to get along without him if necessary, the plain and simple truth was, she missed him. But as the days turned into weeks she began to suspect that whatever path he was taking, she wasn't destined to walk it with him. He had a job to do, true, but he clearly hadn't made staying a priority, and she couldn't help but think Atton had finally decided to go his own way.

But the baby gave Dane great joy, and there were times when she looked into her daughter's half-closed eyes, or listened to her little sigh, that Dane thought she would be all right without Atton. She had to be. Nothing else was more important than the health and happiness of her child, and as much as Dane wanted a father for Elin, she would accept a destiny without one and strive to make her child's life as full and free from want as possible. But still, the dull ache was there, lodged in the recesses of her heart like a cold, black shard of glass—heavy and sharp and ever-present.

Three days into that first month, as promised, a decent sum of credits appeared in her bank account, and the ache intensified. Atton, wherever he was or whatever he was doing, was paying his debts. But the money brought little comfort. It wasn't a debt only to her he was paying, Dane knew. It was the debt of grief and regret and blame for he had decided he owed the universe for the crimes of his past and here was the only way he knew to pay it back. The long hours he had worked while on the TSF station, the grueling shifts, the overtime, and the money he gave to Dane, were all salves he was spreading very thin over a very large wound. The amount that showed up in her bank account was not only support for Elin, Dane felt, but blood money too.

True, she needed it. With Elin so new, Dane could not work, but was living off the credits she had amassed during her travels and the small sum that was Atton's atonement. The former would run out soon, and the latter, whatever the good intentions behind it, was not enough. Carth had given Dane the small, two-bedroom apartment she shared with Elin, but that charity was taking its toll on her, and she longed to support herself. She _had_ to support herself and the baby. And Dane knew the day was fast approaching

When Elin grew old enough to travel Dane would seek work helping others with her healing gift.. She would close the account Atton was putting money in to, leave Telos and never see him again. It was a big universe and she and him, in the scheme of things, were small.

_He has chosen another path. Perhaps the crimes of his past are too much— in his mind—to overcome. Perhaps he is fighting a terrible battle, one in which Jaq stands in the presence of Atton and he is waiting to see who will be the victor. Or perhaps, _Dane thought, _the plain and simple truth is, the dark nature I was so certain he could overcome, has triumphed._

And then he came back, and restarted his nightly visits to her and Elin, and Dane felt there was hope still…

Atton was at the door one night, and Dane opened it complaining, "I've fought Sith Lords and Mandalorians and dark Jedi, but I am somehow incapable of getting _your_ daughter to go to sleep."

"Oh, so now she's just mine, eh?" Atton said with a laugh. He strode into the small apartment and into Elin's room where the baby's cries could be heard. He reemerged, holding her to him, her cries quieted and one chubby fist jammed in her mouth.

"Are you giving your mother a hard time?" Atton asked the baby. "Can't you see she's had a rough day?"

Dane glanced up at the wisps of hair that had escaped her ponytail to fall over her eyes, and then down to her stained and wrinkled clothes. "Is it that obvious? I look a mess."

"You look beautiful, babe," Atton said.

Dane froze for a moment. He was doing that more and more—saying things that revealed his affection without realizing he had said anything. He hadn't been looking at her when he said it; he was so engrossed in Elin. _That's proof of his redemption, isn't it? Another shovel of dirt over Jaq's grave? _

Dane smiled at Atton holding their daughter. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Nah," he said. He stopped bouncing Elin on his knee and held her close to his chest after she yawned mightily. "On second thought, I'll take a juice."

Dane nodded and went to the kitchen to get his drink. "How was work today?"

"Same ole," Atton replied. "Some frack-head stiff shirt sent down some order that says we have to use some brand new code to access the manifests. As if it didn't take us eight years to memorize the sixteen hundred other corksmoking codes we're supposed to know…"

"Language," Dane warned lightly.

"Right. Sorry." Atton turned to Elin. "Your mommy doesn't like it when I say things like frack-head and corksmoker, does she, princess?"

Dane rolled her eyes. "Your juice," she said, handing him the glass.

"Thanks, sweets," he said and quaffed it in one shot.

"You're welcome," Dane said and sat beside him on the couch. "I don't envy you having to memorize a bunch of codes, but I'd trade one of your days for one of mine. I'm looking forward to working soon."

She'd said it lightly but Atton's smile slipped.

"What is it?"

"I have to go away again," he said. "Four weeks this time."

"You just came back," Dane said, her voice sounding small.

"I know," Atton said dully. Elin yawned again and he held her close to him. "I'd rather be here with her. And with you," he added almost inaudibly.

Dane swallowed hard. "She's finally asleep," she whispered after a moment, with a nod toward the baby.

"I've got her," Atton said and took Elin to her room.

When he came back, Dane hadn't moved. He returned and they sat side-by-side, both staring at his juice glass, or the coasters or the rented vids strewn over the coffee table.

"It's harder when you're away," Dane said finally. "I…Elin misses you when you're gone."

"Yeah?" He toyed with his empty juice glass. "And what about you?"

"Yes," Dane murmured. "I miss you too."

"You could come with me. You both could. Some red-haired lieutenant of Onasi's told me the _Ebon Hawk _has been sitting in a garage, waiting for me."

"She is," Dane said. "I gave her to you. She's yours."

"Well, let's use her!" Atton said with sudden energy. "Come with me and you can stay in the _Hawk _while I work. Or hell, you could work _with_ me."

"And do what?"

"I don't know. There's always guys snapping their fingers and crates always seem to land on someone's foot. You could heal them. You're good at that, right?"

Dane suppressed a smile. "So I've been told."

"So…?" Atton still wasn't looking at her. "Unless you don't think I'd make good company."

"No, that's not—"

"Look, Dane, here's the deal," Atton said, getting up suddenly from the couch. "I can't stand this anymore."

"Stand what?" Dane asked, watching him. Her heart thudded dully in her chest. _Here it is. Finally…_

Atton paced the small livingroom. "This waiting. This feeling like I'm on a trial that keeps going and going and going. Even when I was gone, it was like I was out proving myself. When's it going to end? Are we going to…I don't know, be together? Or what?"

She felt his frustration, and a myriad other emotions in him that he was experiencing but not able to articulate. Pride. Hope. Regret. And love, she felt that too. But she could almost see the last barrier that stood between them. The one dark shadow that he would either carry around with him for the rest of his life, or one that he would set down, just as she had set down the terrible burden of her wound.

He was looking at her now with an expression that was half-impatient for a reply, and half a naked desire to run out the door before he could hear it. Dane folded her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling. _This is it. This is the next moment…_

"This is the end," she murmured, finishing her thought aloud.

"Oh yeah?" Atton said, his tone unreadable. "Is that what this is?"

"No, not—"

"Okay, then. If that's what you want, fine," he spat, his voice rising. "Just answer me this: Why the frack did you let me hang around here? Why did you let me hold Elin and…" he swallowed hard. "Fracking, _why_?"

"Keep your voice down," Dane said. "I didn't mean—"

"You know what? I don't even care anymore," Atton said, making a cutting gesture with his hand. "I've been busting my ass for the last eight months and for what? So you could test me?" His old sneer came back like a battered shield. "You want to see if I've paid my penance to your satisfaction?"

Dane rose to her feet and stood so that they were inches apart. His eyes were blazing but Dane didn't back down. _I will never be afraid of him._

"Tell me, Atton," she said, her voice unwavering. "Tell me everything right now so that you can let it go. I don't want you like this, like you're some dam on the verge of bursting at any moment. _Tell me_."

"Tell you what, Dane?"

"Everything."

"I already did once before, a long time ago. It didn't stick, sweets, remember? Why should it now?"

"Because now it's different," Dane said, ignoring his sarcasm. "Now, you have a _daughter_ to add into that equation of 'Jaq' and 'Atton' you keep toying with, like it was one of your pazaak games."

Atton's face grew dark. "You don't know the half of it."

Dane moved closer. "Then _tell me._ Tell me, Atton," she pleaded, her tone softer now. But he only shook his head so she said, "I hate this too. I hate not having you here all the time. I hate not having you here for Elin—"

"But I'm no good, right? I've been a bad boy and you're waiting for me to show I can behave myself."

"That's not true. I—"

"Well, forget it. You were right," he spat. "I'm never going to be who you want. I can't. But I'm trying. Frack me, I'm trying. I'm trying and I am killing myself for it."

"I know," Dane said. _He's so close. He's been alone with everything for so long, but he's so close…_ "I know what you're trying to do," she urged gently, "…all that hard work…"

"Yeah, exactly," Atton snorted. "I work and work and work until I can't fracking see straight and it's all I can do fall into bed some nights. And for what? I can't change anything. I can't take it all back. What can I do? Feel bad about what I did? Say that I'm _sorry_?" He laughed and it had a hysterical edge to it, but his gray-green eyes were shining with tears. Dane could almost see the blackened memories in them. And then he let down the last barrier and let it pour out like a dark tide.

"I killed those Jedi, Dane," he continued. "And I didn't just kill them. What I told you, on the _Ebon Hawk_? My confession?" he spat the word. "That was nothing. I killed Jedi. Nearly a hundred of them, with my own two hands. But first I hurt them. I tortured. I raped. I did things that I can't even begin to regret because that little word is a fracking piece of _nothing_."

Dane could only stand and watch him, couldn't even breath. For all the horror of his words, she was glad. The first time he had confessed to her of his crimes, his words had seemed glib and simple. It had been far too easy for him to say what he had said, and in the end, Dane realized now, there had been little relief in that admission. _He was right, it didn't stick. _ But back then she had already been loving him, already making excuses, and she had found herself offering him the only thing she knew—the Force—and he had taken it with a shrug and a smirk. _This is different, _Dane thought, and this purging—it gave her hope.

"And now what? Now I'm supposed to pretend like all that scrag didn't happen?" Atton demanded miserably. "Or that it was someone else who murdered those Jedi? That it was Jaq? Nope, you were right, sweets. Jaq _is_ me. I've been deluding myself for years, taking a fake name and playing Jedi. It doesn't change a damn, fracking thing. So how can I go on?" he asked, his voice trembling. "How can I be a…what you want me to be with all that hanging over me? Every thing I do right…" He shook his head. "It's not enough and it doesn't change a damn thing."

He turned away and ran the back of his hand over his mouth. Dane could feel the hopelessness in him; how it wasn't just Telos he was trying to bring back to life with all his blood and sweat and toil.

"It changes everything, Atton," Dane said softly. "Everything you do that helps someone else, no matter how small the act, makes a difference. It doesn't erase the past, but it makes that dark time in your life that much more different from now. Atton, you have a _child _now. You made her with me." She smiled through her tears. "Creating that life is as far from murder as you can ever be.

"And it is the same for me. I can't ever forget what I did at Malachor V. No matter that the wound is gone, it will always be with me. But looking at Elin, I know that my days of war and battle and killing are over. Malachor V _happened_ but I have a second chance now, with her and with you. I would rather concentrate on building a future than regretting the past. As Bao-Dur once told me, all those bad feelings of pain and anger…let them go. They aren't worth anything. Anything at all."

Atton looked at her and she could see in his eyes that he was desperate to believe her.

"I…" he stammered and then fell silent, shaking his head.

Dane moved closer to him. She took his face in her hands and smiled gently. "Tell me, love. Tell me everything before it burns you from the inside out."

Atton slumped, defeated, and his eyes swam. "I…I didn't kill Macen," he told her brokenly. "Not like I said I did. He wanted to die…he asked me…I couldn't let Lirik do it. I couldn't…"

"I know," Dane whispered.

"And the woman…Jude…" he said, his voice was choked with tears. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I thought that was over. I thought I would stop…when I met you…I didn't want anyone else."

Dane pressed her lips together and only nodded.

"And before that…" Atton breathed a harsh sigh and shook his head but Dane didn't let him go. "Before that, those Jedi…I just wanted them to hurt. I wanted _someone _to scream like my sister had, because no one cared. No one…" The tears were falling freely now, and he laid his forehead against her own. "I thought I was doing right by her. I thought I was avenging her and my father and that she wanted it. But by the time I realized she didn't…it was too late."

_Here it comes, _Dane thought. _Please, Force, let it be so…_

"And I see now," he said, pulling away to look at her through red-rimmed eyes. "I liked it…the killing. I _had _to like it because I had done so much…oh gods, so much…But if I could take even one time back…just one, I swear to you, sweets, I would…"

He broke down completely then and Dane staggered slightly under his weight. He held her tightly, his lean body wracked with sobs and Dane closed her eyes and pressed her face into his neck. She could feel the warm skin there, feel his pulse beneath. Through the Force, she felt much more and she smiled through her tears and held him tighter.

After a moment Atton pulled away, and held her face, and stroked her hair, and looked down at her with desperation in his eyes. "Look at me," he pleaded. "Look at me through the Force, because my words don't mean scrag. Are you looking at me?"

Dane nodded, her own tears spilling down her cheeks. "Yes, love," she whispered.

"Can you see, babe, that I…" He blinked hard and pressed his lips together. "Can you see how much I love Elin? And you?"

Dane nodded, unable to speak.

"Can you see that I won't hurt you? Not ever?" he begged.

"I see it, Atton," Dane said, and her eyes bored into his. "But the true test is, can you?"

Atton didn't move and what Dane felt through the Force at that moment made everything she had suffered over the last few years worth every second. _There he is,_ Dane marveled, a thrill of joy sweeping through her. _There he is…_

Through the Force, Dane could see the dark shadows around him grow thin and break apart. The memories were still there—they would never go away or be forgotten—but she could see he was looking at them head-on for the first time instead of through the blood-stained shield of 'Jaq,' and making his peace.

A small sigh escaped Atton. He smiled through his tears and then chuckled, shaking his head. His chuckle turned into a laugh, and he wiped his eyes on the crook of his sleeve. "Ah, frack me, I suppose that's all it really boils down to, isn't it?" he asked gruffly.

"Yes, love," Dane murmured, moving closer to him. "Yes…"

He reached out and touched her cheek with one hand and stroked her hair with the other. "You're pretty smart, sweets."

She shook her head and moved closer. "I only know because I did it myself. About Malachor. I have regrets too, Atton. Many. You are not alone."

Atton smiled and leaned down. "And neither are you, babe. I swear, never again."

The first touch of her lips to his was sweet and gentle, and exactly how she remembered him. He moaned softly, and she could practically feel his thoughts: _It's been too long…_

Dane kissed him again, this time more deeply, and felt the touch of his mouth on hers awaken parts of her body that had been dormant for a long time. He moaned again and kissed her hard. Dane gasped as he thrust his hands into her hair and his mouth worked over hers with thrilling skill and passion. He sucked at her lips, kissed them chastely and then plunged in again—kissing her in a hundred different ways to make up for all the lost time between them.

Dane drew him down on the couch and her clothes melted away under his deft touch as they often had. She held him close, shared his breath, tasted his sweat and tears and added her own, and the moment she had felt on Peragus so long ago was returned to her. A little moment, a little sigh of relief shared between them, telling them that after all that had come to pass, they had triumphed. Dark times and circumstance had pulled them apart, but they found their way back, and each kiss and every touch was a celebration of that victory.

He was her happy ending and she was his, and that was the best resolution either of them could have ever hoped for.


	51. Epilogue

**Epilogue: **

We were married in a small ceremony presided over by Carth—he being a fleet admiral and so qualified—and witnessed by a handful of our closest friends. Arax Onasi bounced Elin on her knee while Jolee complained that there was something in the air that was irritating his eyes and causing him to sniffle. Visas watched through the Force, her quiet, graceful form filling the room with her beatific presence, while Mission's tears were little testaments to the sweet and full-hearted qualities of her nature.

We wore simple attire but I've never seen Atton look more handsome. There was a serenity about him that lent his physical beauty an almost mystical air, so that he looked otherworldly to me. I know it was only my fanciful imagination—and I was as dazed as brides can be on their wedding day—but he looked less like a man dressed in a simple suit, but more like a promise of an astounding future. It was in his smile—a smile that was easy and real and full of joy. And it was in his movements that were free and light. He carried himself like one who had seen and experienced much and come out clean on the other side, and his emanations through the Force were purer than I had ever seen them.

Later, as we danced in the dim light of the little restaurant, as our daughter was passed hand to hand among those we loved best, I thought there would never be a more perfect happiness than this day and all it portended.

That night, alone in our room, the perfection of that day was carried on long into the night. In a fervor we came together, alternately rushing toward ecstasy, or luxuriating in long, satisfying embraces. At one time, I trailed kisses down the tight muscles of his chest, and felt the texture of his skin change over his abdomen. My fingers lingered over the large scar on Atton's stomach—an amoeba-shaped discoloration where the synthskin replaced his own. I touched reverently that wound, that remnant of all that had come to pass. It was where the darkness had been burned out of him, I imagined.

"Does it still hurt?" I murmured.

"Not anymore," he said, and I thought he could have been speaking of many things.

After a short honeymoon—neither of us could stand to be away from Elin for more than a few days—we moved to a larger apartment on the TSF station. Atton continued to work for the restoration project, and I began taking small commissions to places where accidents or disasters had occurred. Visas, on Coruscant, would comm me with the details and I would venture out to heal those who had need of it. I was compensated well by the governments or ruling bodies of those colonies I attended, but I was loathe to leave my family for any great length of time. I was only willing to take short trips—those in which I would be gone no longer than a week—despite the urgent need for help I felt all over the galaxy. But it was time to put my life first, and my family would always be my highest priority.

Elin was very much her father's girl and, even as a toddler, she watched him with a serious, custodial eye. She disliked being apart from him and he doted on her in ways that made my heart melt, but he never suspected. Elin didn't either, of course, at such a young age, but I wondered if there would come a time when she would remember all that had come to pass between her and her father in the twilight regions of the Force where she protected him so fiercely.

I watched Elin grow with pride, even as I worried she was too serious for her age. At four, she was a proven Force-adept and gravitating toward the Order, but she seemed to carry a great burden, as though the safety of our family—especially Atton—were resting on her narrow shoulders.

Two years after, I became pregnant again with our second daughter. I ceased my work and gave birth to Lily nearly on the third anniversary of our wedding. Lily was a perfect blend of Atton and myself, with dark hair but light eyes, a broad mouth but narrow chin. Elin regarded her new sister skeptically at first, especially when she realized her father's attentions were now going to be divided. But she was a stoic child and tolerated her brawling, squalling sibling with a detached affection.

One year and a half after Lily was born, I gave birth to our son, Zachariah. Zach came with great difficulty and I knew that after him, I would bear no more children. But that destiny seemed right and natural. Atton couldn't have been more proud of Zachariah and I sensed in him a feeling of profound satisfaction. He loved his daughters to the ends of the universe, but his son made his paternal self whole.

And Zach was his father's son. He carried all of Atton's physical traits and none of mine. But the resemblance didn't end there. While Elin bore the quieter side of my nature, and while Lily was a potent mix of exuberance followed by brooding introspection, Zach was one hundred percent Atton. One of my fondest memories is of laying one-year old Zach on the living room floor so that I might change his diaper. Atton sat beside me, distracting his son who was prone to screeching his discomfort at the whole process. No sooner had I wrangled a fresh diaper on him, did Atton and I both detect the sound, and then odor, of another mess. Zachariah looked at us with those big gray-green eyes of his and said, in a baby-ish voice but with perfect clarity: "Pure pazaak."

Atton and I laughed until tears streamed down our cheeks and our sides ached while our daughters regarded us as if we were insane.

Our apartment was a happy chaos with three small children, but altogether too cramped once Zachariah arrived, demanding, even as a baby, more than his share of space and attention. Several government agencies were clamoring at Visas to enlist my services and so we decided to move to Coruscant. This move boded well for the restoration project was functioning productively and Carth's constant supervision was not needed. Telos was coming back to life, and as it did, the TSF station grew more and more barren and empty. There was nothing left for us there, and while the planet of Telos itself was beautiful, there were too many memories drifting over its surface for me to want to call it home.

Coruscant had more to offer and Atton was quickly employed, while I found plenty to do between staying home with the children and tending to the planet's injured when I could. Coruscant's population was well over a trillion sentients; it was not difficult, unfortunately, to find work healing the sick and injured and still remain close to home.

Coruscant was a suitable home in other ways, as well. Carth and Arax being near was primary. The Admiral and Atton, after some initial aloofness, became close friends. They shared a similar sense of humor and for a time, both our households were under constant threat of practical jokes that only Carth and Atton found amusing. But the pranks came to an abrupt end when Arax accidentally set off a booby trap Atton had meant for Carth, and had to remain isolated in their home for a week until her skin color returned to normal. Atton laughed until he was a brilliant shade of red himself, but Carth, his neck stiff from sleeping on the couch during that week, irritably declared surrender.

As for Arax and myself, her animosity at my possession of the Force and her lack of it was soon compounded by my having three beautiful children and she having none. She and Carth tried for four years, and as each one passed, the strain between us grew more and more palpable, despite the friendship of our husbands and her presence at Elin's birth.

But at the end of the fourth year, Arax became pregnant with her first and only child. Kell Onasi was born a year behind Zachariah, and two behind Lily, but his intellect was apparent almost from the first year of his life and he behaved as though he and Lily were of an age. The birth of her son tempered Arax and smoothed the turbulent waters of our oft-stormy relationship…until all of our children came of an age in which the Force made itself known to them…or it did not.

Elin and Lily both showed their adeptness early, while in Zach and Kell, the Force remained absent. The fact that her son should suffer the same Force-less fate as she, stoked Arax's enmity towards me all over again. It did not matter, either, that my own son was never to be a Jedi either. But while Arax despaired over her son, I was secretly glad about mine. It was hard enough to know I would soon have to turn two of my children over to the Jedi to begin their training—I was grateful my youngest would not be parted from me so soon.

Atton shared my disappointment in giving Elin and Lily up, perhaps more so than I. He knew intimately the duality of the Force's nature and I suspect there was always a fear lurking in the back of his mind that one of his beloved daughters would one day fall victim to it. But there was no stopping Elin or Lily. Both were bound and determined to become full Jedi Knights as soon as humanly possible. For Elin, her desire manifested in a steady, consistent, and thorough study of the Force, the forms, and the Code. Her knowledge of history, lineages and various chronicles of Jedi exploits, both dark and light, was textbook in its accuracy. Lily, on the other hand, was all passion.

Before she was five, she was wielding sticks, broom-handles, small tree branches, as though they were lightsabers. She yearned for perfection in the forms before she even could grasp their purpose, and she longed to accumulate as much prowess with the various Force powers as soon as she was able. More than once, I'd had to release Zach from a weak, but efficient Stasis. A ban on using the Force went into effect when Lily used her abilities to levitate one of the baby's favorite toys just out of reach above his head until he screamed with frustration.

The Jedi Temple was near to our home, however, and even as the girls began their training, both Atton and myself remained constant presences in their life.

And though our exploits were at an end, being as close to Carth and the resources of the Fleet, as well as the Jedi Temple, we kept in contact with those who had shared in our journeys.

Mission was working to what Kreia had foreseen; Nar Shaddaa was slowly healing itself under her ministrations. She worked tirelessly to turn her shelter into a force to be reckoned with against the tides of corruption and decadence. The Exchange remained a constant presence, but their numbers were not so easily filled with new recruits thanks to Mission's efforts.

The Twi'lek visited us often after an initial reluctance—the Temple, and Dustil in it, were close to our home. But time heals wounds the Force cannot, and after a while, she and Dustil became friends. They would never be truly close, but their shared experiences gave them an association they could not ignore. And so while they were cordial to one another whenever circumstance brought them together, Dustil was not at Mission's wedding, nor was she in attendance when he attained his Knighthood.

Dustil's vision had returned and he, under Mical and Juhani's tutelage, had become an exceptional Knight. He channeled his passionate emotions into his service and made his father more proud than Carth could ever have imagined with his constant diligence and service to the causes that kept the galaxy safe. And his masters became a force unto themselves.

. Because of their complimentary natures, Mical and Juhani worked almost exclusively in tandem when it came to the tutelage of young Jedi. Her fiery devotion and his cool logic created a whole that was superlative in its teachings of the Jedi philosophies.

During that time, my friendship with Mical deepened into something I value more than I can say. And though Juhani and I will never be close, she bears a grudging respect for me for what I do with my healing, and I will always admire her standing by her convictions no matter how others might be put off by them.

Visas too, became a cherished friend, and there were more times than I could count when I sought her good counsel and advice. My children, Elin in particular, took to 'Aunty Visas' quickly as well. Elin, even at a young age, sought to emulate the dignified serenity of the Master Jedi, and so when the girls went to the Temple to begin their training, it was as though they were still among family.

But while Mical and Visas were dear friends to me, it was Jolee whose company I sought—and missed—more than any other. A gray through and through, Jolee wanted little to do with the day-to-day machinations of Temple life and was often absent, performing his duties on outer-rim worlds, and only occasionally returning to Coruscant for a few days at a time.

He would report to me the doings of Lirik Thrakill and Mira who had tracked down the wayward Jedi, but I paid little attention. No matter the affections Jolee or, apparently, Mira, had for the young man, I could never find any of the same in my heart. Lirik was no longer a Jedi and so had little business on Coruscant, which was fine with me. I trusted Mira and Jolee had seen something good and true in him and I believed them—I simply hadn't the inclination to care.

Canderous Ordo I never saw again and the Mandalorians, despite his vague promise to me that we would see more of them in the time to come, had remained silent. I often wondered if he, as Mandalore, had failed to reunite the clans as he had wanted…or if he were slowly amassing a force that would disrupt the peace of the galaxy in the not-too-distant future. But as my fighting days were over, I left those matters to Carth and Visas and only pledged my assistance should anything ill befall the colonies of our galaxy.

I thought of Canderous often, especially when I found myself inclined to act solely for the benefit of another and not consider my own viewpoints and considerations on the matter. I had a life of my own, despite the demands made on me as a wife, mother, and healer, and I was and am bound and determined to keep it that way.

And my family makes it so easy. They are a constant joy to me. I cannot describe the pleasure of seeing Elin grow into the beautiful, intelligent girl Bao-Dur had shown me through the Force. There aren't words for the pride I feel when I see Lily wield her toy lightsabers and declare that 'no Darths better come here or they'll be sorry' with all the gravitas a four-year-old can muster. And the love that swells in my heart when I watch Atton lift Zach into the air, making the baby squeal with laughter is unparalleled to anything I had experienced before. They are my joys and if only my children grow into healthy, happy people, my greatest hopes would be realized.

And then there is Atton.

If ever someone who has read up on the history of my exploits—and there are some of dubious intent that I have run into in my travels—inevitably the same question is asked: How can I love a murderer? Alternately, I am accosted by well-meaning people who wonder how I could have ever rehabilitated such a monster and who congratulate me for my triumph over the dark side.

To both, my reply is always the same (though abridged, to be sure.)

I didn't turn Atton into—or create him out of—something that wasn't there to begin with. He faced his own darkness and came out the other side, and I was thousands of light-years away when he did it. He fought his toughest battles alone. Atton is not held together by my Force, or my influence, or whatever you prefer to call it. It is not some glue keeping him intact. He is not waging a silent battle with his demons. His laughter is not forced, and the smiles the touch his lips are fully reflected in his eyes. There are no secret fears or lusts or pains that he tries to conceal, nor are their private rages he has when he thinks no one is looking. His heart is open and his conscious is clear of the old hate. But not because of me. Atton clawed his way out of the dark pit he put himself in on his own. It had to be that way, if we were going to stay together. The time I lingered on Rattatak was not done without purpose. I knew that if we were going to survive together, we needed to prove that we could survive apart.

And it is working.

That is not to say we don't have our moments. Atton is still Atton, after all. He still falls asleep every night with a hand clasped over my breast. He still belches in front of the children more than I'd prefer, and we fight, of course. But our fights have no real bite to them; there are no threats or promises of worse things to come lurking beneath the bickering. Once you've held a lightsaber to the neck of the one you love (and have had him hold one to your own) there are few things remaining to fight over of any real merit.

In short, we are happy. I am happy with him and I know he is happy with me.

And despite my reply, there are some who still scoff and think it impossible that I could have forgiven him for his crimes, and others who doubt his sincerity and commitment to all things good and decent. How could I love a murderer, and how could that murderer find love in his heart in return?

The answer is so simple, it appears complex and impossible.

The inherent nature of human beings is good. As cold is merely an absence of heat, the dark side is merely a shortage of light. The dark side does not exist on its own. It cannot. It is not the foundation by which this galaxy functions and grows and survives. Atton was good. He _is_ good. There was never a time in which he wasn't. Only a time in which, in his life, there was an absence of light.

And so it is for all sentient beings. To believe otherwise is to live without hope. It is to deny the existence and steadfast perseverance of the human spirit. It is to believe that we have no choice, and that the dark side is like a disease that we might catch, and for which there is no inoculation. It is to believe that a darker nature—even a murderous one—is a permanent state, without hope of redemption or change. This is not true. No matter how hard life presses down, we always have the choice to fight back. How hard and for how long determines those who fall, and those who do not.

Atton fought back, and now there is not one particle of my being that doubts him. And he doesn't doubt me. The scores of lives I took at Malachor V do not hang between us anymore. I don't deny what I have done, and neither does he. We have both confronted and accepted our worst deeds and we thrive now because we have both vowed, with all of our heart and soul, not to repeat them.

It is the best anyone can do, but it is also enough.

And in the end, there is only one truth worth learning and remembering from my experiences. It is the only one that will carry me through any dark days to come, and it is the only one in which I want to pass on to those who ask. It never fails to spark in the soul of the listener and catch fire and grow warmly if only he or she is willing to hear it, and that truth is this:

There is always hope for those who have fallen. Always.

_--Dane Rand_

(Archive-dated at 3969 YBY)

* * *

So there it is. Speak now or forever hold your peace. :)

Author's Notes to follow...


	52. Author's Notes

**Author's Notes**

I never, in a million years, would have guessed that I would be finishing this story over a year after I'd begun it. It was supposed to be for fun, for writing, and to assuage a major disappointment I had with the ending of Kotor II. It was never intended to be 50+ chapters long or over 1,000 pages. That's just crazy-talk, right there. In fact, the real end was supposed to be right around chapter 9 where Atton and Dane hook up. THAT was the original ending. But I'd set up this stuff with Dane and the Exchange that had promise and would have been left unresolved had I ended it there. But like Thelma suggested to Louise, 'let's just keep going,' my imagination did the same. So I did. And then some. And here we are, a year and half later.

There are other things I never expected, like the number of hits or reviews I've received. They both just boggle my mind. When I first started, I had two reviews on two chapters and the second one said, "Can't (read) this, too fluffy." Not exactly encouragement, but I was brand new to fanfiction and thought I was rich. It wasn't until around chapter 15 or 16, when you, my readers, began to get really vocal, did I realize what I had and how blessed I was.

I'd like to say I didn't write this for the reviews, but that wouldn't be an entirely honest statement. What WOULD be honest, is that after awhile, I wrote to get a certain kind of review.

This whole thing has been one gigantic exercise in rehabilitating a lost love of writing. I had been writing stuff for myself for years, showing no one, and getting more and more in my head about what I was doing. "Resolutions" and its readers have completely saved me. Until I began posting this story, I'd had no feedback of any kind outside of university term papers, which, anyone will tell you, are NOT the same as creative writing stories. But the feedback I began to receive was what I began to write for. You guys didn't just tell me you liked it (although I had those too, and that's perfectly fine by me, thank you very much)  but many of you seemed to really get into it. You made suggestions or observations that changed how I thought of things. The course of the plot was somewhat guided by the comments made to me in the reviews. The amount of time and volume of reviews made me realize I would be doing a tremendous disservice to half-ass this, so I tried real hard to get it right.

In short, your reviews made me think, made me work harder, and made me realize that I had something to offer as a storyteller after all. I'm not Shakespeare and I don't pretend to be, but thanks to you all, I know I can entertain, and hell, that's more than good enough for me. It's not putting to fine a point on it to say that I feel like I can pursue what I want to pursue because of the devotion and affection of my readers. And for that, I can never properly thank you. (Well, I could, but you'd probably eventually tell me to quit groveling; it's not attractive.) ;)

And I'm going to try anyway. ;)

I have to thank you all for writing to me, be it a short review or long. The very fact you took the time at all earns you my undying gratitude. You all made every second worthwhile, truly.

And since some of you have asked what I will be doing next. Here's a brief line up in no particular order:

--Rian Sage's "Baggage" Challenge on my forum. (okay, so that's first since it has a deadline)

--A prequel and a sequel to "Lifelines" because Bao-Dur is hawt and that's just a fact

--some Kavar/Exile smut just because

--work on my own original fiction.

As for another long epic, I'll never say never, but it is highly unlikely. I've left a few strings untied in Res on purpose in the event the plot bunnies regarding the Rand and Onasi children demand to be heard, but that will likely be a no more than ten chapters at the most and a long time in the coming. Also, Lirik and Mira are up to something, but for now I have no immediate plans to say what.

Some people have asked me what I did that helped make my fic more successful. The answer is easy: I made it a priority. In the beginning, my motto was one chapter to be posted per week. This was instituted to run out a laziness I had developed when it came to working on my original stuff. No one can procrastinate better than I, so I forced myself to post once a week, two at the most. I think that helped build a following and earn the readers' trust. There are lots of fics that start out promising, but then the author either updates like a snail (like me on KFM) or they just give it up. Readers don't like that. I like to think my dedication to the story came through enough so that my readers could get involved and not worry that I would abandon it at any time. (Even though, right at the end my postings DID begin to come months apart—thanks for sticking to it.) Writing this fic became like a second job, and I put a lot of time and work into it and I think that it showed. (If nothing but in sheer quantity of pages, for Force's sake.)

So that's the main secret. Post regularly and post well. I think readers can feel it if you really care about the fic or not. That's not to say that stories can't be written for the hell of it, but I know the ONLY reason I have nearly 700 reviews is because my readers could feel that I was working for them and so they rewarded me accordingly.

**Some character stuff…**

This was so much fun to write but some characters were particularly entertaining. The games brilliantly made them all so rich and their backstories just full enough for plot fodder, but not so detailed that we're all afraid to color outside the lines because of canonitis. But of all the characters, Jolee and HK-47 were the most fun, Visas and Mical the most difficult, and Mission and Carth somewhere in between. Revan was a pain in my ass, to be frank, and so was Bastila (so I quickly killed her, moowawaaa) Also a ton of fun to write were the Thrakill twins (Lirik especially pinches Lirik's cheek) Raff O'Bannon and Darth Tertius. I have to admit, O'Bannon almost tops my list and I was a teeny bit sorry when Atton put a blaster bolt between his eyes. He was a bastard among bastards and I'm rather proud of him.

Atton was easy and most fun when he was Jaq and Bao-Dur was such a precious thing that after I killed him, I missed him too much and had to work him back in right away. Ahh, the Force. The deus ex machina of the murderous author. ;)

And then there's Dane.

She started out as an experiment. In the game, you're the center of the universe and your dialogue choices can be lighty-light to the extreme. You can, if you work at it, have your character be standing proud and tall, bathed in righteous light side glory, and have your actions influence positively everyone you touch. So that's how I made her. It seemed right to me to carry on the character I had created in the game into the story I was going to write that followed immediately after. Res starts right at the end of the game. It made sense to me that Dane should carry on what I had started there.

But then the story began to grow and I realized Dane's situation was going to have to change. But I vowed I was NOT going to have a witty, bantering, catty Exile. And I wanted her GOOD so no murderous rampages or fiery tempers. Instead, I tried to create a character who was the center of everyone's universe (as set up by the game) yet insecure, prone to hysteria, too involved in her man, and completely and totally unworldly. I wanted a character who was reallyreallyreally good and I wanted her to WIN. I was not interested in writing a story that somehow left the reader feeling like being good was something to be punished for. Dane took her licks, true, but her perseverance and belief in the inherent good of all people was NOT something I was willing to compromise. Our society spends enough time finding fault and being suspicious of those who are trying to accomplish something decent in this world. Not for a second did I want that cynicism to leak into my story or Dane.

I tried to make that the most apparent in Revan, who cut Dane down and called her names and chastised her for her naivete, but in the end, it was Dane who still had her integrity and Revan was nothing more than a person who had, yet again, given in to her darker natures.

It may have worked. It might not have. My interest was in creating a solid character no matter how crowd-pleasing she was or wasn't, and in that I think I succeeded.

**Groveling and prostrations…**

Now, I really want this last part to NOT sound like a yearbook entry or an award ceremony, but there's lots of people to thank.

One of the most brilliant aspects of this endeavor was the friends I made while doing it. I'm so fortunate to have stumbled across that silly game and then felt that silly urge to write a story about it. If I hadn't done either of those (and I thank my hubs for insisting I give Kotor I a try. _Insisting_, can you believe it?) then my writing would still be bogged down in various states of craposity. I'd still be telling myself "I'm writing a book" even though "writing a book" was then the equivalent of endless outlining and map drawing and character development instead of, oh I don't know, actual writing.

Anyway, besides all the help this story has given to my writing, I've had the added bonus of making many good friends. I'm not going to name all of you because that would take too long and also because I'd forget someone and feel lame from now until eternity. But **Alice and Co**, **qt3.14159**, **padawanmage**, **Cablefraga**, **Auros**, **Rian Sage, lauraceleste**, and** phoenixasending** deserve special mention. As does **Alexandra3** who at times left such brilliantly honest and _readable_ reviews, I often held my breath until I got one from her.

And **Miss Becky** who was my first buddy made, and the one who really and truly gave me the confidence to keep going. She loves good character stories as much as I do, and so to have her support and advice was invaluable. I love ya, darling, and don't know what would have happened without you.

And this last part belongs up with the successful action portion of my ramblings, but I don't want to repeat myself and I am really going to try to keep this under 5 pages. ;)

To have a really successful fic, or even a decent one, you need to have a good beta reader. (And preferably one who you can beta for too, to get a nice exchange going.) You have to have someone you can trust to tell you when you've screwed up and when you've got it right. A negative review is nothing compared to the mighty force of your beta reader saying, "You've got some good stuff here, but the rest needs MAJOR work." Or, "That makes no sense. Cut it," without a smidgen of sugary topping to take the sting out. You should have a beta reader who isn't afraid to tell it like it is, but who has earned your trust so that he CAN tell it like it is and you can hear it. And I was extremely fortunate to have found one.

Yes, this fic is over 1,000 pages long and many chapters reached well past 30. As tiring as I'm sure it was to read, imagine reading each chapter twice. Or three times. Imagine getting a 35-page chapter accompanied by a slightly whiny email asking in no uncertain terms if you would drop everything and get the draft back ASAP! If I had a medal for **Bald as Malak**, I'd airmail it to him priority overnight. (He's really far away so that's saying something.) **BaM** not only waded through my run-on sentences and dubious grammatical constructions, but also added a wealth of suggestion, ideas, and creativity.

**BaM**, you were a fantastic, honest, intelligent, and oft-times heroic beta reader and I am forever grateful for your hand in this collaboration and all the others in the works. Thank you for putting in the time that you did and for letting me return the favor with your fantastic story. It's been a blast. hugs and chocolate

So that's it. I'm at four pages so I'd better quit while I'm ahead.

Thanks again to all of you (and I SWEAR) I will reply to each and every review for these last chaps because I know that since you took the time to leave a review, the very absolute minimum I can do is respond to it.

And to any other writers, I say this: Stay focused. Don't let negativity or lack of response stymie you. If you really have a story you want to tell, then tell it, and the enthusiasm and energy you put into it will come back to you.

There is so much talent on this site, and so much creativity, and so many good people, I am proud to be a part of this community. Thank you all.

Love,

Trillian

October, 2006


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